In the side garden liatris
rings the bird bath
furzed brown skeletons being
slowly stripped to stick figures
by the finches.
Beneath the front feeders peace
hunches along with seventeen doves
but it is this cracked glass framing the
Champs Elysées that holds the truth.
How they dimmed the Eiffel’s lights
in memory of the dozen gunned down
for illustrating the world so others might see
and seeing, consider how to see differently
perhaps, even as other shut their eyes
and elevated themselves to be their deity.
Tracing this fracture, with its single slash
Through the Arc de Triomphe, is to own
a different piece of Legendre than yesterday,
I will leave it unrepaired.