Bashiqa

Light and a framed sky
   Cut only by a western steeple 
   and a broken crucifix
No horizon or porch gossip
No feet running in the summer grass
Sometimes, the absence of everything
   human is life

Clouds that billow or hold position
   For hours on end
   with no timeframe 
A feathered freedom
Wing to wander
A perspective removed from the ground 
   view with limitations

The hungry tiny finger
   That reaches to touch
    a way out, outside    
The once hopeful air and freedom
Beyond broken glass and lives
Somewhere the absence of everything
   human is life