There was no gentle in the Dallas air today
only the rumbling voice of maybe-God
the debris of all we can not have

There is no heart beating in the twisted steel
no angel’s breath in the mottled laundry
no archangel’s sword to kill the plunderers

But there is a smile, not ironic or warm,
hollow, maybe only the echo of a real smile,
but still – lips upturned and grateful tears

Mothers in crowded rooms singing
where the world did not fall apart
to scared babies unable to sleep, afraid to dream

There is soft gentle in the air in Dallas tonight
tender gentle in the fingertips of strangers
holy gentle in arms that hold and the tears that fall.