War

The thunder of the guns swells to a single 

Heavy roar then break ups in separate explosions.

The dry bursts of the machine guns rattle

 above the airs teems with invisible movements

With howls, pipings, and hissing. 

They are smaller than shells 

Booming through the night like an organ

agao to the great box and the heavies. They have a hoarse, distant bellow like

A rutting stag and make their way and howl  and whistle

Of the smaller. It reminds me of

Wild geese when I hear them.

Last Autumn the wild geese flew days 

after across the path of the shells