I went to the temple of God
and wrote Volodymyr Zelenskyy
on the page over which the saints pray.
My president, too. But just now
I can’t bear to say his name, and it was
difficult to write.
I knelt at the altar on behalf of children
and parents, of married women and men.
Their names unfamiliar, difficult to say.
Their lives, their homes and pathways unimaginable to me,
but not to the angels in that room.
There was a great tenderness
in the room. I sat with my beloved
and with friends, joining hands
for the union of souls.
I almost forgot, for an hour.
We walked out to a glittering sky, spangles
on a black ground.
Our countries wrapped, for a moment,
in mercy.
