SHOCK AND AWE
They declared war tonight. Already
guns assemble in that desert far away.
And here where it is raining good California rain,
here where spring knocks at the ground's door,
eager, nervous, bringing flowers; here,
where the air swoons with roses, wearing jasmine
in her hair, I wish I could say to you, Love me.
We've gone walking. It is night.
Street lights make hollows for the rain
to fall through, and even the cars
spray as gently as your hand would feel
in mine. But your hands are your own
and you have made them fists.
One thing we agree – this night is no place
for war. The question: our part.
Violence has its time, you say,
speaking I think of some righteous
revolution. Everything its season.
I say, look at the buds just forming
on the thorn branch. Look how we walk
as if we love each other. How tender
the night is, each light a silver armful.
All across the sidewalk the snails come,
woken by rain, leaving moon-trails
over the damp concrete, seeking each other.
They are so many, I cannot keep
from crushing them. Their shells shatter
under each guilty, tender foot.