Shatter the glass:
it wants to be

the sand it came from.
It wants to go back.

Remember, violence is made
of cog and clockwork,

pendulum and gravity, the moon
and her insistence.

Forget what you believe
about mercy; the word is redacted.

We speak within a certain parameter,
we whisper when we need to;

better an honest stain
than a bleached shroud.

Peel back the skin to show
the wolf underneath.

Soak the ivory
in the blood it came from.

Let the red show.