A Grain of Justice

Water in the desert,

a flower in the snow,

sun in the dead of the night,

a river that does not flow.

Frozen moments like glassy ice,

hanging in time,

no less common than fresh snow.

In the low morning light,

a sob is a shriek and fresh blood,

spilled without care,

shines like oil on the street.

Show me a grain of justice,

and I will give you my world.

My life for a speck of justice,

not even a book to be opened,

or a scroll unfurled.

You will not find it in the street,

or oak-paneled rooms.

Not in history, on screens,

or enshrined in marble, gilt tombs.

Bring a shred of justice to the table,

and stand above kings and lords.

Watch it slip through your fingers,

and see how it crumbles when put into words.