rounds of hate in scores fired
enter my body as i watch
six of them who look like me —
and what can i do but scream silently
from thousands of miles away?
still, the cherry blossoms blossom,
waxy callas trumpet sunward,
and the green that conquers foothills blatantly
the hum of cyclosis in tranquil daylight but
their screams rattle clear inside my cranium,
their screams as they died,
and I think that
when their bodies hit the floor
and bled life back into the earth,
part of me died with them.