Below the broken houses

Under these shattered streets

The earth lies like litmus;

Bright red

Made toxic by all the anger

All the layers of pain

Fresh young blood

Worms its way

Into each holy strata

A general declares for war

“Until we have located and destroyed each tunnel”

As if it might be possible to rid the earth

Of moles

Or earthworms

But both are fed by what falls from above

Death makes fertile soil

For tunnellers