You would try
To reach for their hearts
Through a skin
That has toughen up
From the daily
Cartridge rains.
You would try
To light a candle for them
But the nightly
Burning tires
Seem to always
Outshine your prayers.
You can try
To bring them a drop of life
But they are ghosts.
The ghosts of Cite Soleil.
And they cannot be more
Dead.
