unfound

there was aching in the minaret's call that evening. we saw it in feet quickened toward prayer, the hollowed throats, the panting for water, the sun sinking in the bowels of clouds,the gentle wind sweeping the street as if cleansing the hands that took & took, the eyes narrowed into the doorknob twisting the body of someone's son into shadow, the flamesof memories & a silhouette of grief, the wildfire of silence touching everyone's house, the prayer points from the church down the street, & the desperation in the hands of mothers rocking thepictures of their sons. there were dreams in which the sons were no longer sons, in which they were quickened steps, in which they were the cleric's tasbih counted in prayer,in which their sisters were calling their names & there were echoes calling back at the girls— between loss & grief, the heavier is one whose body morphed into decibels of sorrow—that evening,the party searched the street, the uncompleted building where they had found his school uniform earlier, searched the tiny paths that led to the river that flowed from the end of the city, checkedthe police station, searched his mother's room, under her bed, inside her purse, followed the steps quickened toward prayer, into the hollowed throat of the mother panting for her son.