Crash Site Unseen


Credible debris has bite,
But past its naked fangs
Pants a willing tongue

Lodged in a silent witness,
Absence of flesh with much to say.
So wanting to be moved by truth

This sign language born of
Devastation, strewn by chance,
Is not capable of lying.

Char marks make their meaning known.
The aftermath is the new math
Massaging the miniscule chemistries…

To tell it like it is,
To reveal what was,
For those who crave a good mystery,

Where closure can only rest with
A cause and effect and everyone
Weeping on the same page.

 

Copyright © 2003 Greg Braquet