Identity Parade

Street by street, the city’s shivered breath whispers
of blood-letting.

Fading and falling

Out at the edge of shadow,

the universe’s shaped charge
unwinds.

Thirteenth Year

In my thirteenth year
I did not sing
on the school bus.

Dwinin

Sherp, deid gless glents oot o orra grun.
Midden-weeds that heeze aginst the rubble
grow in the shape o aabody’s pain.
Here, wi broken doors that nae human haun
can open, naebody wull tak the trouble
tae walk gled-hairtit on these steens again.