Boom,

then

sounds like

shattering glass,

fragments of glass,

plinking sounds carried

on the wind.

Boom.

Agitated, the city,

men with guns

rummaging around yards,

snipers on rooftop,

jumbles of green, black, blue.

Shooting.

Shooting past walls,

reason

resistance.

Men are hunters,

men are chaos

shooting.

Bombing.

Shattering glass.

Helicopters

split the air,

float and circle,

then break rank

and roar

above my house,

past hope.

We are shuttered,

we are peering out windows,

most digital, some

glass.

And we are shattering,

we are moaning.

We are listening,

we are not sublime.

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