The Sun cracks through
the bracken sky-
week of
black clouds, rain, spit-
mist of fog
the streets
gripped with terror,
and mud against
the curbs.
Now the dog down
the street's racked with
barking,
and the red flag
waves on my e-
mail screen.
I want the petals
bright, the whole
nine yards:
so when the hel-
icopter thumps
over
from somewhere to
somewhere, I
feel once
again the heart-
rattle, that old
grave fear,
--that thrum-as in
a movie of
the war
that everybody
watch, though no
one won.
|