After Paul Klee

Shattered. You try to conceal and avoid the light. 
Burying the color beneath Dresden, and the other stains

in Gaza. The wound, wide enough, below the chest. 
Time, here, revolves around the well, with the men

and women pushing their wagons full of jars of water 
into the smoke. Echoing among the wires, you hear

the bell ringing and toiling, tirelessly, the entire night
like the loud heartbeat of a terrified child. Remember

the Messiah who died on the cross to redeem the world? 
The Roman legionnaires have long abandoned the walls.

And you want the fire, to devour the altar. Yes, the city 
you painted and left is now burning. A parade of refugees.

Some walk with their heads bowed, like rusty, submerged 
anchors. Some walk upright, dreaming of their return.

Simon Anton Diego Baena’s work has appeared in The Cortland ReviewThe Bitter OleanderCatamaran Literary ReaderSanta Ana River ReviewCider Press ReviewFifth WednesdayChiron ReviewOsiris, and elsewhere.