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