"That Map of Bone and Opened Valves."
I watched the Sergeant aim, the deaf boy
take iron and fire in his mouth--
his face and the asphalt,
that map of bone and opened valves.
It is the air.
Something in the air wants us too much.
The earth is still.
The tower guards eat cucumber sandwiches.
This first day
soldiers examine the ears of bartenders,
accountants, soldiers--
the wicked things silence does to soldiers.
They tear Gora's wife from her bed like a door off a bus
--observe this moment
how it convulses--
The body of the boy lies on the asphalt like a paperclip.
The body of the boy lies on the asphalt
like the body of a boy.
I touch the walls, feel the pulse of the house, and I
stare up wordless and do not know why I am alive.
We tiptoe this city,
Sonya and I,
between theaters, and gardens, and the wrought-iron gates--
Be courageous, we say, but no one
is courageous, as a sound we do not hear
lifts the birds off the water.