Silence Runs Bleeding 

The tree line needles 
the beats of someone’s 
enormous heart. The waterfowls 
flow in the morning air stream. 
Silence runs bleeding 
from its gunshot wound.

You crumple peace and throw 
that at me. We burn 
a photograph of the treaty 
in the cabin. When I open 
my palm and extend my arms 
from above falls the flakes 
of their ashes. The motion 
consumes so much time that 
if one holds his breath 
during the fall he will be obliterated.

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