Day 363

The sky is a shroud over all the land.
The child watches as morning light
comes slowly, slowly, and asks herself
what will be uncovered.  There are bodies
in the road.  There is blood
in the soil.  There are faces
in the high trees, eyes of those
who have been killed.  The child
sits, watches.  Everyone else in the tent
is asleep.  She speaks a few words
to the darkness about to be overcome
and holds one hand with the other
as the horses of inevitability
pull in the dawn, gallop now
toward whatever this day will be.