Notes From Sarajevo
…a bullet in flight bears no sound
The city’s empty but for wind varying shades of darkness a woman kneeling under a briar from here she seems to be hiding if the shrub had a voice it would sing for water she’s found a crook in its heart bear with me (she stops to cough and begins again) when the little war’s over I’ll bring you some water my home’s in the country (her voice is thin) a well’s in the garden I’ll invite you on Sundays for a glass or two the words for an instant steep in silence a fathom deep and sinking still