Elegy in the Valley of Dry Bones

The bones of the dead are mingled. They rise out of dust into the air, and fall in pieces into the ground. Distinctions of religion, nationality and creed blur in either direction. Looking up at the sky, we are met with the presence of absence, and trace the outline of buildings in our minds, and the shape of that morning itself with its light--filled beginning and its smoke--filled end. Ash covers the living and the dead. There are only fragments of identity hidden in the debris. Yet, as the parts and bodies of the dead are recovered they are held in reverent silence, brought forward in prayer. Those who touch these shattered lives know that what they see before them is some part of the whole living presence of the beloved. These are not the dead, but the loved ones, and in that love that can never be broken, they live.

2002 Hondi Duncan Brasco