like cordwood / we stack them

The ground is angled, darkened / by fireball.

blackness / all I can / think of

as if I too could plume carmine / beneath the sun’s fingers.

Women hold our void.

bleached white as bone

We fight for some peace, but peace we have not.

we rise, together, one more time

here we lie our things in the
Graveyard of Empires

Another day across the long valley road

I’m still tired from that last patrol

The stalls burst with baskets of figs and dates, the / smell of kebab lamb and warm naan.

Colonels make speeches / in which they must mention / their spouses, feminine endurance, / a devotion to sacrifice.

Now I understood / the bake sales for Dragon Skin Armor requested by buddies / who claimed that Army IBA failed after only one shot.

Routines fall into cadence, but still, / truth has a roguishness about it—

You can never understand the cost my / Service has had on my body and soul.

You come home from the war... you are different now.