ONE YEAR LATER I look out from under and hardly see the change. On the outside, frosted over, glazed It is all the same: Birds still fly And planes soar high. Hearts, on occasion, soar too. There are monkeys in the jungles There are leaves and bark on trees There is snow in the dead of winter And life in the warmth of spring Leaves are changing colors Children, for home and for country, For childhood, sing. On the inside, there is pain There is death Hearts are hanging open, Bloody faces plastered on Walls that no longer stand And faces screaming murder On a burial ground Because their country Is most grand While the other stands or crouches, Maybe in a cave, Maybe on a pedestal The face known 'round the world Given fingers, given threats, Given the fame it deserves. The country is as one One year later, as one moon later One song later The cloud has lifted But the mist remains In the morning we stand tall and shiver In the night we hunt and brave Come daytime, the daylight. One year later: Unchanged? Or uncovered? Back against the dust, face against the pistol: United. Written on September 11, 2002. Poetry