Shapeless

by Al Fournier
 
There is no mouth to form the shape
of our sorrow, the shame of our loss.
No lips but the fallen petals of remembered
childhood. No lids to blind these eyes
to storms of war and angered Earth.
 
We danced our energy dance, our towers
rising on the backs of enslaved brothers.
Every cell and snake and sparrow danced too,
since the first algal bloom, each harvested
their daily meal of sun, enough to move
their forms across lighted fields, scattering
seeds of other beings along their trails,
giving back their bodies to the soil.
 
We learned too much, mastered everything
but our own hunger. Left a hollow ache
in place of beauty. Left our children
cursing songs of praise, wringing their hands
in empty air.