Berlin
We see the public statues
water-stained and darker now.
Small bullet scars on buildings—
how can it be so quiet?
Though I keep almost hearing
someone close behind me,
the not quite footsteps,
voices traveling toward me,
and I am in a dog’s world
without the dog’s keen hearing.
I have only my sad psyche
where rounded cobblestones
appear like tops of shaven heads
and underneath,
the rest of their clothed bodies,
cramped into a crowd
mercilessly, still standing.
Plume: Issue #63 October 2016