Human sympathy can be warm and comforting,
like an angora blanket. It does much good.
But it can also be like a single wave of the unstable sea
that bubbles and froths over a solitary rock,
then withdraws, leaving it alone.
Much of the world's pity for the families
of victims of crashes and terrorism and war is like this.
Too soon they are left by themselves
to stare at a vacant chair or
listen vainly for the familiar cadence of footsteps
that sound no more around that house or hut.
But is it too soon? Perhaps not always.
For as long as pity hovers,
the healing Christ seems less clearly heard,
as roaring freeway mostly muffles
the lilting song of bird.
