Don’t speak to me of reason.
I can see the lingering red flesh
of grandfathers splayed like jellyfish
tentacles on the beach, and the broken bones
of daughters scattered like driftwood
can see them in wave after breaking

wave of missiles. How fast the tide
comes in, crashes the sand castles
of children’s lives, their skin as wrinkled
as seaweed. I can see the blasted
buildings like barnacle bits.
Save your speech. I can see.