Waiting For War

A charcoal tree rises.
A narrow field unfolds.
Skirting fenceposts bow,
Bolstered mesh screening a distant wood;
The weight of a transparent sky on its branches.

Aircraft tails stand aloft,
Poised like sharks ready to hunt;
Crouched, cut and pasted in perspective.
Unmarked silhouettes with silver streaks upon their wings.
Still, sun-tipped propellers.