THE SANCTUARY

They are
almost our friends
who are hunting us now never missing
a beat while they teach us
the various rhythms for running in fear.

The training has been subtle.
We speak
read and write about illumination
then applaud as their shadows
pop up on the spot.
We hear
the sounding of the horns
blend
with the begging noises of the sea.

Nevertheless
we know we are the animals
whose bodies bear garlands of horror,
whose heads were lopped off in cold blood, who have slept
in a wax museum
where the watch is kept
by mannequins of murderous steel.