limen

every dead thing is sainted 
even if impermanent 

as sadness, staining breath,
straining glass

while our faces sigh into it--
an empty staircase 
of smoke, of panic, prayer 
rising, now howling

"open the door, open it"
gasping, holding on

to memories, remembering 

doors used to open

Arundhati Roy: "We are witnessing a crime against humanity"