SUNDAY

Empty Sunday

No need for church

No buying vegetables

No need to water potted plants,

their blooms all withered

Bach’s variations

play out a last note   No workers

at the door   The concrete wall’s complete

Star Wars on again

The Force should awaken

but this is not the final chapter

The sky crowded as ever

No angel descends like rain

This coastline, so many tsunamis

These borders, so many coffins

Will the subway ring once more

with gunshots   By the stove the cat

warms her snowy coat

Will it melt