Day 1,023

You stand, looking out
over the rubble
your city has been reduced to,
wondering how many
lie under that fallen world:
walls, ceilings, furniture,
rooftops, cars — all
indistinguishable
from where you stand.
How many bodies,
whole or in fragments?
How many severed limbs?
Charred faces? No way
to number them. No equipment
to clear what’s stacked
on top of them. Friends
you grew up with, still
unaccounted for. Your
grandmother, her cherished
blue shoes. Your mother,
her hair that could never
be tamed. What parts
of yourself as well
lie trapped there? you ask
the wind that seems
to carry their grieving
voices. The wind
that blows over everything.