The house shakes from the repeated explosions of ordinance, miles away. You wonder, shuddering, how it impacts the small hairs in the ears of those who detonate it. Again. Again. Again. Who has paid the price for this, and who will pay it again, again, again? A few stray snowflakes sift onto the ice.
In another country, the blue vision of a poet has been torn away, his voice silenced. You hear this, are stunned into self-reproach.
What can I do, you ask, in his honor? How should I remember the selves we have all gambled, and lost?
The river answers, Go, now. Be a mother.