righteousness is rarely right; i don’t know yet how to use it and am intimidated by trying to learn

dispassionate
the gun barks.

without emotion
the words form together
to make what we call
Law.

the intent is
one of terror.

the terrified
are never without
their righteousnesses.

the goal is to
love everyone
but every day
another one
makes their terror
into violence,
makes their terror
into the soft,
smooth,
cowardice
of hate.

a kid goes to an
unfamiliar door
and rings its bell.

inside,
terror crouches.

terror answers the door.
terror grips the gun.
cowardice squeezes.

without assumption,
the sun floats
roundly in our sky.
holding no judgments,
the moon again
reflects light
back to us,

the terrified
and the kind,
alike.