It is the week of the Nice atrocity;
beyond the Gap, I see,
draped over a roadside memorial stone,
Elsewhere, a man decides
the universes of eighty-four minds
must be obliterated;
eighty-four lives to the wind.
How men assume themselves God:
make plots of hatred
where there were gardens of innocence,
conjecture bullets as seeds.
My most sincere sympathy to the relatives and friends of all those who died this week.