When I smell the wind of an AK-47
before it sounds its name
before it travels in rounds of seconds
splintering the thoughts of sterile termites
pushing through the density of evil
in search of me

I run to hide in the voluminous fury of a jasmine shrub
in bloom
its pale butter blossoms shield me
from the bloodletting
bathing its roots

I snort, in silent gulps, which claim my dignity
the calming splendor of the jasmine’s bouquet

I am rescued
for an instance
from a hunter high
on the dizziness of his own deprivation

I am rescued
from my brother
by a perfumed bush