MAN MET PIANO, KIEV, OEKRAÏNE, 2014 Poem by Peter Verhelst

They say there are lions on the rooftops.

A gigantic cloud shaped like a city
above what was once the city.

We gather round the charred rubble.
One step at a time our feet, knees and bellies slide the ash,
debris and molten bodies together in a pile.

First we form an octagon, then a rectangle, a square
and, finally, a circle.

We link arms, hip to hip, heads bent,
tightening the circle millimetre by millimetre
until it's a lump, polished by our hair,
black and compact between us.

We push the piano along in front of us. It hums. Everywhere

bleeding people like a field of tulips - there are so many kinds
of red, but many more kinds
of sorrow. We wait until the piano is dripping with it. And sets again.

Lions with furious manes on the rooftops.

We drag the piano behind us under a cloud
shaped like a piano. We form a single heartbeat. Pounding.