The news from Bosnia is that this girl
has lost the everything of him she loved,
has lost that slab of chest, that being there,
that hair and heartbeat, seed and sleeping mass,
has lost the eyes in which she swam at east
and hand in which she hid so fleetingly.
All this has gone beneath the silent grass
sewn up by anvil men who cared to hate.

The news from Bosnia is that this girl
who used to look beyond the hill in trust
who used to smile to see the path twist up
around the pines, the fetching path, the way ...
This girl now counts its stones in bitterness
and fears the hill and all the lands it hides

and more than that, each new consoling word.