Borodino

Some single guns in Russian woods, add silence,
Start the merest bone vibration. A cavalry rumoured by a soft earthquake. As I lie to listen, all is quietened by the moss. My man and seventy thousand men become confused in my heart. Very clear is a little water droplet, dazzling in the dawn. And all the tiny creatures crawling towards the morning. Lying pressed on the earth, I listen and am mother to all those dying men. Lovers and sons shed in the unrhythmic boom, spine-grasping song, and then nothing but hoof-clatter on slippery, broken weapons. The night falls very velvet.

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