Hard to say now where a seam in the soil
marked the place where a row of villagers
with their arms tied behind their backs
slumped to the ground after the order
to fire. Someone has engraved a plaque
to show where something was raised
from rubble— But dark wounds petal
every patch of earth under stone
and gravel. Someone has pledged
a troth or signed his name in blood
at the base of a monument. Bird wing
or flag flutter? It’s hard to tell
when shadows lengthen and currents
darken: so many faces in the river.
In response to an entry from the Morning Porch.