THE HOUSES OF VLADIMIR
Nothing weighs more than
a child’s body limp as flags
of blue sky and wheat.
Nothing deafens more
than mothers ululating
grief that scatters birds.
This permanent rain
of worldly things turned hellish –
a blank diary page.
Poland breathes them in.
Children wish on yellowed stars
stitched into earths skin.
In Mariupol,
deer are struck by tanks
accepting the metal beasts.
Tethered to her babe
a mother misted the cold
kissing her newborn.
Nothing shines brighter
than a cosmos of missiles
landing on houses.
Nothing hurts soil more
than tiny bones in little squares
unmarked, they were never here.
Antony Owen
