Sunlight shimmers on slices of mirror and glass.
Blue sky and cumulus clouds,
the arc of the sky visible through the space 
where the roof used to be.

She looks north down her street at a red thobe
with brilliant intricate tatreez 
down the front, up the sleeves
still hung on a clothesline in a yard
without a house.

Wind lifts curtains through blown out
windows. Ghosts of shutters rattle.
Rumble of returning jets approaching,
cries of searchers sifting rubble,
what was precious, now belonging
to no one. The very earth vibrates.