One moment Breath, the next it’s gone; lungs full but not of air. Bereft of loved ones’ touch They die alone. And God cries. “Use the inside lot,” the suit says. “Guards will keep the riffraff out.” Money insulates the powered from the ones they pledged to lead. And God cries. “I’m glad to help,” the woman tugged her checkbook from its Gucci home. Not knowing her own maid could feed three families from that gift — and would. And God cries. “They’re not like us!” the pastor shouts as righteous heads all nod assent. “Unclean beasts,” the elders echo, blind to their own excrement. And God cries. Crowds march and chant, “Black lives matter!” Then a brick flies overhead. “And what about my little daughter?” moans the cop, His head blood-red. And God cries. “Oh, my Lord, how can you stand it!” anguish tore my heart in two. [Why so surprised, my child,] a voice — but not a voice — replied. [Humans are, well, human with the will to turn or walk away.] “But love— You said to love each other!” [A choice that each one gets to make.] I sat with this, my mind awhirl, struggling to comprehend. [Look there,] the voice (but not a voice) whispered in my ear. A white girl trips. A black teen pauses, hand half out to stop her fall. Fear in blue eyes, fear in brown, but hands grasp; they each smile and walk on. And God laughs.