They are not humans, but they’ve been digging
all day. Low on lead, bulldozers fire their engines.
They do not look like humans , but they know,
and we beat them back down with the shovels.
They scream in pure, beautiful terror
as we return them to dust, throwing stones
or laughing strangely at the irony. The machines
take but a few minutes to smooth out their lives.

Jesus, please do not let them be humans. I walk
over our fresh grave and see a hand emerging
from some other world. The dirt-covered fresh
young face of a girl appears.
I kneel down to see ;
she gazes up at me with knowing
eyes as I reach down
and fire three tear-
less shots between
her brown