Crumbs

how are there no secrets among us
when each violent thought
is a crumb wiped
from the corner of your mouth --
careless, messy,
inconvenient, human?
and still, bombs make
little sense --
comm lines are snipped
from reason,
heartstrings replaced
with barbed wire.
those crumbs from before,
they have been collected
by warm hands,
shaped into bricks
for schools, for churches.
and when you ask about borders,
the children laugh.
borders are easy
when there is nothing
to protect.