it is not mine

i had thought momentarily his hands were
safe now not in war soft left on the side of
the road fleshy tears in kandahar a
consciencious objective of keeping
him alive because one two forgive him
they know it
not what they do.
but he does no good
making my decisions
or her's either
and i do know good
choosing to ignore it

the nights are long and cold alone
although a hearth is offered
he walks
on glass
shards and i
pick them up
ripping at my flesh behind four paces
wondering why the lesson never sinks
and the boy picked has jesus's
body
herod's
eyes
though he keeps putting
his fingers up my nose
laughing
and i see him cry
when he loses them
one by
one