After all that when after you came or he or another then it changed it changes imagine these words as all there is, imagine that. Now there's another war and there were others and others. Words wars. Words wars love savagery. Imagine you're imagining words wars love. Peace, brother. Euripides on his island, you on yours. Screen culture. Wars. Sometimes it all feels like a sea of words and under the surface the depths pull as if all we know is a dust of things and things are illusions and under it all there are depths that are unknowable and still oh God I'm grateful for every touch every entry into another for my children for the women I've loved for the solitude and the heartbreak and the loneliness and the joy and the anger and indignation. So now there's another war and all the old voices the ones we thought vanquished are back and in total control and the dogs are loose burying young men by the hundreds of thousands under the sand in foreign deserts starving them blowing them to pieces with what now we call smart bombs, bombs that find the tyrant's window and land in his bed, only how were we to know it was his five-year-old playing in the bed that morning while he was out somewhere doing what a tyrant does? Only the bleeding-hearts the weak-willed complain. Another war calls it all into question. Again. What does any of it matter to the dead? All they want is to hold the ones they love once again in their arms.