My fluffy friend kept my desk at work when
from a cubicle, some new French smirk found
it, but its white dust made him turn around;
that bone earth, same 9/11 earth then
where three thousand were scorched by blinding soot,
and orphaned babies crawled for tomorrow
choked 'neath two towers of crushing sorrow
below shoveled ash with a melting boot.
And I, from debris, sought a church nearby
and slept restlessly until this clean bear,
some young girl granted to me to share
as a pillow, eased my sleeping by
those last dead nights wherein I didn't mourn
until my hands unearthed my daughter, torn.