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For Ukraine

Ryner Lai

You tread softly
As if the earth is made of snow.


Gesturing broadly to your guest:
“This is where our great memorial will be.”


You lower your gaze;
Your guest follows your lead.


The memory of war pierces you;
Your tears drop like blood.


Poetry is rising.


Our graves beneath you:
An inverted heaven.


A sliver of a sunflower
Unfolds to meet the sun.


Children of freedom:
Dip your pens
Deep into our souls;
We have made ink.