From beyond my sight, shots
echo off the rise; dampened
answers stroll like summer thunder,
and I wonder whether
the staccato roar we hear is just the first –
whether, were we stationed in the valley
we would swell like the gulf
between two rows of cannons,
bob like bait in the wake
of their ships’ shuddering reactions
as, from beat to beat, the clamor faded,
waves diminishing in every strike.
How many heartbeats would I wait
below, listening for the comfort
of a dwindling answer to my only question:
Are you still there? Are you still there?
