Bombs can swim
Like jellyfish, and squeeze
Precisely: into churches,
Books and airport clothes shops
Where small silences live in thimbles
And cuff link boxes.

The giant tortoise silences
Live in palace squares
Where kings and presidents
Inspect their troops,
And wave to people from golden carriages,
Open cars.

Bombs are fruit.
Detonators cut the silence
Round their pitted, cut glass zeroes,
Dividing everything
Between before and after.

The first precedes
The instant. It lies
Between the switch
And the explosion.

To attack power is to attack silence,
The second silence -in the hollow cup- between
Three clock hands and an instant. There

One spark can fly forever,