Gerhard Richter Ohne Titel (9.8.98)

The world is layered
and complicated,
insignificant to most
who never see the small
fractures of the universe.

We can count the missteps
of time           the lethal doses
of poison         and the tears
of fallen angels
                 in each bled line on the wall.

Canyons scrape across the Earth
their making just a push
from your hand                    so violent
in reality            a trembling
                              shaking
                              ear splitting
wound in the face of everything.