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Apella
This morning, a light so full, so complete we might ask why the god of sun is also god of plague, why the god of healing also god of archery. The children under trees— unaware their hearts have become targets red and inflamed as the eyes of men in thrones— find sticks in the grass to fashion into guns. Some brandish a branch-saber. They are sniping the golden light with squinting faces. And everywhere they do not look, fences and more fences. There are no arrows to point the way as they scythe through a woods or dart between cars in parking lots. The miles of fence-links grow more & more impassable even as the children try to follow the voices calling them now, at first with tenderness and then with fierce intensity.