WHEN BOTH MAYORS OF SAN FRANCISCO WERE KILLED
Anything can be a gun.
The sigh of an assassins bullets
is gun enough to make
all our flags fall halfway down.
The oceans mouth is another gun,
with another voice, each wave
another round of lush ammunition.
The stars make a wish on us
and silence is their wish.
Silence gets up from its
bed of perpetual noise, holds
its head above the living.
guns arent what they seem;
guns dont say what they seem the say.
sleep is their main occupation,
long, mysterious sleep.
They wake with a short crack,
a quick blink of fire,
then smoke back to slumber.
We dream their nightmares for them,
trying not to know that
anything can be a gun
and any gun can foretell a future.
- Brown Miller