I don’t want anyone.

I don’t want roses if all they become
is a blanket of petals for graves dug too early

I don’t want prayers if we only sing
because we are two hymns shy of an empty tabernacle

I don’t want a name if no one will
pronounce it in the same reverence it was formed

I don’t want laughter if our rib cages
are so soundproof that we can’t hear the anguish too

I don’t want to write poems if between each line
is the name of a missing girl and no one will read

I don’t want tomorrows if they are mere mirrors of yesterdays,
reflections we are too stubborn to see.

I don’t want miracles if it stands as a lesson a god wants to teach.
if that god finds me worthy
if I was unlucky to be seen grazing
by a burning bush