The birds’ whistles hush by the low grumble of earth,
gazing over the valley

my stance fixes.

A battalion of ants ride beetles of white, and brown.
Flying through fields, I confront the town.

My stance fixes.

I hear a man cry from the rush,
“Ring the bell!”

My stance fixes.

I dodge people, reach the tower, and ring the bell.
I see families stuffing inside the doors.

My stance fixes.

I forgot about my mother, desperately looking for her brown locks,
I remember: she was in the tunnel’s before I left.

My stance fixes.

I see her on the other side of a closing door.
sealed, all of them.

My stance fixes.

Turning, I see a scimitar, already cutting the air.
Doors open…

Her stance fixes...