“Goodnight, Paris. I love you,”
My daughter Lillian said
After I tucked her in.

Like me, she knew not
The names
The weapons
The ideology
Or the details.

And like me,
She knows only love.

And, like her,
I knew that
Who they were
didn’t matter.
What they used
didn’t matter.
What principles
they espoused
didn’t matter.
What religion
they followed
didn’t matter.

I know who they are,
having seen them
so many times
before on my path:
Always different
in some ways.
Always the same
in just one way.

And, like my daughter,
I know exactly how
to deal with them.

Goodnight, Paris.
I love you…
Sending in The Angels.