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No one bears witness

for the witnesses are

18 poets

who turn white sheets

and blank screens

into a languagemine

with 5000 words

that crawl across the globe

to watch the war

in Afghanistan

and then like stars shoot

to disembodied eyes

eyes of silent malls

where rats bleed

before turning left

into a crystal dumpster.

We REPLY-ied

to all of these

as puffs of breeze

seeded the words

spreading ink-

in a world

where only words

can claim-

footprints

Stitched and spun

with a giant yarn

this collaborative sock

may have holes.

But if you pull it

up you would know

that 18 minds

would not watch

grief do its work.