I know nothing
about the wind and why it rides
the mountain ridge
whistling, full canter
nor the birdsong
coaxing the morning
until the sun slants, hums, rhymes
not water
how it cools
over, under, around
nor fire
planets
stars
oxygen
grass
and nothing about the blood
that slicks the bodies of children
still, silent, gone
because the color of their skin
the accent of their god
I know
nothing divisible by nothing
has no defined value
when surviving is not enough
truly, the alternative is not this
Writing 