What if we could and didn't. What if
all those children's eyes
in countries that we cannot name cried out to
us
and we didn't. The children's eyes
are black, the color of mourning,
of fired wood, or of
the sky between the stars
where dawn gathers
but is not yet seen. This
year smells of bombs. What if we could
and didn't. What if we just didn't. The eyes,
empty as shells, are watching,
watching,
where tears gather
but have not yet begun to fall.
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