Nate Klug

sound from sound

(after Virgil, Aeneid 2)

Swirling, returning through the pines’ screen,
the sounds were faint but they kept coming
until the ping of battleaxes and men’s screams
covered, then became, the silence.
Still rubbing sleep away, I stumbled
out onto the winding gabled roof
of my father’s house…

as when a wheat field
explodes in wind-tugged flames, or a freshet,
wedged among low mountain ledges,
building up speed, finally lands
and in an instant the meadow vanishes,
crops are crushed, a whole forest,
uprooted, starts wobbling off—

while the shepherd stands, frozen, picking
sound from sound on a distant rock.