It could be anything. A shadow cuts
into the sun. The alligators start
to go to sleep. A bird stops singing, puts
head under wing. Dogs howl. Small creatures dart
home. Blood-drained faces gape: we are advised
to use smoked glass when watching. God is dead
or dying, and we never realised
how much we needed Him. A shroud is spread
as if it were a tablecloth. We drift
without an aim. The sacrifice is near-
ly over. Some are weeping, others sift
their memories like ash. All we hold dear
comes rushing to us now. Death is so slow,
so strange, so cold. We wondered. Now we know.

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