When the new road opens, another horizon
closes over the far distant howl.
Dormant, starving Siberian wolves,
in waiting between cyanide trees, have learnt
a new set of words, mainly verbs,
to restore the remains of a world in times of peace.
Now the most atrocious crimes are committed on Sundays
during the afternoon picnic.
With everybody gone away to a sunnier island,
the overgrown garden covers up white bodies
aligned with precision along the main boulevard.
A genocide of historic proportions has begun –
the simple nouns against the reality of oppression.
Illustration Nick Victor