Steps taken together over scarred, torn soil
And songs sung quietly together,
In an explosion-punctured night
With mouths just a breath's distance apart.
Smokey winds drifted over the pockmarked land,
The glow would never really let the night settle in,
When the sun left again with the refugees.

And these threads we carried for decades
Until they were small traces in a modern blanket
Woven with absurd cords of boredom and apathy.
Yet we still feel the anticipation
When we hold the other's hand
Of the sudden, desperate clench
Of a too-close escape.