In memory of Nia Glassie

There is a child crying outside
the wail rises
knocking finches
from the dying branches
of the old elm in our yard.

This is the weight of a child's cry,
heavier than a finch,
harder than bird song.
It scalps the trees
and drives birds to flight.

Why then
am I so afraid
that it will be silenced.


Chris Never and B. Moon