We call out to you
the angels under our tongues
speaking in a language
it has been said that you know.
We have been told that you know.

We lay on our face
waiting for your responses.
We lay on our face.
We push mud into our ears.
We grind sand into our eyes

hope our souls are wrong
even when we know that aren’t
when the sky spits out
terror, hate, dead small children…
you don’t speak angel’s language.

Go back to where men
created you. These tongues
are ours. We speak the
language of angels now. We
speak and answer our own calls.