There was a border here, manned, carved into
Our maps by a martial hand, unhinging
The nation from the state, water from earth.
You skipped that station, absolving yourself,
Mooring at no harbor, yearning instead
To claim all countries as your own, capture
And control, fly your empire’s flag over
Each of our mastheads and cannons, in the
Name of Frater Pietro, Saint Peter,
San Pedro, amen. Your indulgences
Strained and lonely, and, somehow, forgiven.
Meanwhile, we grieve, and cough, and cry.  We saw
That explosion. Your face flashed in the sky,
We counted to three, heard you rumbling by.

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