Orange, burnt

              (after the bomb blast in Kuta, Bali, October 2002)

Bombs explode
so close, so close

it could have been us.

A yearning for a margarita rim
sinking into the sea

it could have been us.

A yearning for a cointreau sky
sinking into the sea

it could have been us.

(Bombs.

Quick, declaim
a lifetime’s words
to anyone who can hear.)

Why is it
some believe
that in an unjust world
killing for a cause
makes the unthinking enemy
pause?

Life is feather light
and taken away
by the touch of a finger.

Feather light
the spirits that rise
from the bodies burnt.

Feather light
their words are too far
too faint
for us to hear:

“Wherever you are
Don’t stop. Move on.
Show no fear.”