Still Life

Still Life

Still,
there are birds in flight,
feathers attached,
and dogs that bark and breed
for no other reason
than there must be dogs.

Still,
these humans fashion
idol wood and stone
and pierce with rusted spike
Tibetan hands,
the feet of the Sudan.

Still,
the clasping locket
calls your heart to love,
and still, and still
you must forgive the man
who would not be your father.

Still,
all else must die
for you to live and sing.

Still sing.

Still answer.

Still hurt
and grieve
and dream.