Something like a kind of bomb but
harmless because blessed by history & all
radical opinion exploded. No one recovered
but they had been in any case removed
because they'd run: such lack
of faith, such fear of what
could only spread joy, necessity & freedom.
No one really knows much more. Faint voices
drift over occasionally. Our dim sight allows
us a glimpse of dark & sanguine shapes.
Hope, dear lady, we have dismissed for
being too far the demoiselle of our past: what we construct
holding onto history's coat tails may spread out
over several unobtrusive decades but put together
it is our breath-taking monument:
to be satisfactorily self-maimed.