The silence of millennia, the shadow
of a wall, its stones seamed with blood
cocooned with bones and burnt stars
caught the silhouettes of the watchtowers.

So much happens.

A hairline fracture from orbit; a hooked
nail scratching at the cellar door; so deep
the shade of its sentry houses, you drink
as if even water is a secret.

As appeared Prairie Journal, No. 53, Calgary, AB