Boom,
then
sounds like
shattering glass,

fragments of glass,
plinking sounds carried
on the wind.
Boom.

Agitated,  the city,
men with guns
rummaging around yards,
snipers on rooftop,
jumbles of green, black, blue.

Shooting.
Shooting past walls,
reason
resistance.

Men are hunters,
men are chaos
shooting.

Bombing.

Shattering glass.

Helicopters
split the air,
float and circle,
then break rank
and roar
above my house,
past hope.

We are shuttered,
we are peering out windows,
most digital, some
glass.

And we are shattering,
we are moaning.

We are listening,
we are not sublime.