Where does the truth go when you speak?
Is it hiding in shelters, breathing and waiting
as strange feet step inside a home?
Did you set it on fire? Has it suffocated
from smoke still breaching down below?
Did you send it lower, down a ladder,
through a spider’s web of concrete walls,
and bury it there with a blanket?
Or was it burnt on the grass outside,
all turned to a brittle shell of ashes
that caught up with a curling wind,
past blackened cars and discolored streets
to lift a grey ruin upon our skies?
When you’re silent, does it beat inside you?
P
