Goodbye to my twins

New York, September 11, 2001

My twins were executed.
 Groaning, they sank down.
  
 Wrapped in chemical smoke, 
 cranes search the entrails
 did anyone, anything survive
 from the good old days.
  
 They found nothing.
  
 From Bellevue to the Family Center
 the disenchanted rearguard 
 clings to photos from better times.
  
 They found nothing.
  
 Vows of revenge drown the grief
 in booze and drivel.
 Patriots seek salvation
 in God and his flag. 
  
 They will find nothing.
  
 Goodbye to my twins,
 to the Top of the World.
 Behind: a blaze of fire
 In front: plop, down to ground zero.
 The parachute has blood-red stripes
 and fifty star-shaped holes.
  
 Logos, the fairy tale elf
 who lovingly kisses the unconscious awake,
 crouches helplessly, embryonically
 in a high-security labyrinth
 and fearfully awaits her coming out.
  
 I have not found her.
  
 Not yet.
 But I am searching.