the disappeared


Lance Henson

somewhere in the moonlit night
just before dawn
someone lights a candle

she is passing her hands over
the picture of a son a daughter
perhaps a husband

a face gone into the mists of war
they are called
the disappeared

these faces upon a hundred walls
all over the world
appearing in a thousand demonstrations

carried in the streets by women
the birds that fly overhead
recognize the dark tracks
of their weeping
and add their song to their own
they are singing

Milan, January 30, 1997

© 1998 Lance Henson

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