Each warm evening
wet memories
transfix my heart
and
cripple me.
 
Helplessness floods the room,
 
Objects shiver
My existence is a knot.
Home and river and rustle
flit and pass.
 
Hope is hazy.
 
That city is a litter of
broken bricks,
burnt house
and
choked gutters.
Their present,
our past and your future
fall to pieces before the gun.
The gaping wound
speaks
of broken man’s
chopped fate.