MaelstromI smell winterMore Like This
in your bloodline,
the thick throttle of crimson
trapping the snow
and the crows' last laugh
stretching out the wires
taut and high over me.
I smell the cold
in the trees
where your face still hangs
caught like antlers,
weed-boned and blank
in the thin sunshine
of a drowning man.
And your kisses
still reek of snow -
frost chewing through my tongue,
cleaving to your smile,
blemished and beaming
in the surly light
left dying under your thumb
caught in my maelstrom.
RetreatI have abandoned battle, savored peaceMore Like This
and lost my weapons deep in sacred ground.
I have sought sweet mercy - God's own release
and prayed for his swift justice to abound.
I have walked past the soldiers in the street
and heard their cries run shameless without sound -
the tired, shuffling resonance of feet.
And in the morning's chilled and angry blast,
I recognize the music of retreat
as if I saw the ghosts that knew my past
gathering at the tables for a feast.
Then God allow these thoughts to be my last
for I have hopes my blessings will increase
and the dark symphony of war will cease.