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With the swimmers, swim,
with the travellers, travel,
as they say in church.

With the one who was raped
and is expecting a child,
breathe, breathe, breathe.
With the child whose hair has gone grey,
prepare a backpack for school.

With the frostbitten, freeze,
with the shellshocked, vomit in the trench.
With the tank commander,
who’s been missing since October,
be found, be pieced together
from scattered body parts.
Consecrated particles
as they say in church.

And also be
with the one who eats pot noodles with cold water;
with the one who was captured but will never talk;
with the one who was conceived
but didn’t get born.
And be with the one
who didn’t get to give birth.

And also be
with the two girls
somewhere in the Rivne region, do you remember?
We were driving to the east, in a convoy,
and they stood watching at the roadside,
and put their hands on their hearts.

And then I understood everything.