Sunday, May 07, 2017


The soldiers tromp
Brick, shards
Matter shattered
And then dried like leaves --
The shaking down of temples,

The marble of Romans
Is a diaspora bomb.
In the sylvan distance
GBUs thump like wine-skins
And the Syrian dancing girls
Are all wetted now
By weird rains.

The region
Stays filled with legions
While the emperor resumes drink.
And on the flag-stones
Of the thoroughfares
Sandals are whitened
By dust.

- Finn Harvor

[first appeared, Former People, 2014]

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