Letter from one of NY's sons

The sea overflows onto the shoreline
with tears of sadness,
for all submerged spirits
before the day surfaces;
below the night's skin.
I wear a thorned crown
of that day
everyday for now four years (Septiembre 11),
my callous hands have not
hardened my heart,
my drenched eyes have not
drained the bitter salt; but,
there's still an orchard
full of growing trees;
there's still a yard
for children to run far.
Man's goodness should prevail
his brother's failings;
man adapts to the course set
by life's stream, not change it.
DW2005
September 09