After watching the news about a distant war,
mating helicopters and suns split in twos
by the clubs of the savages, she comes out for a little walk
with her dog. Tree bark forms faces,
the trees themselves run away humming popular songs,
songs she is afraid of, ashamed to sing, to hear,
and God whispers to her: You must pray, my dear,
pray, but not to me. She doesn’t seem to pay attention.