The night you came home
I watched you sleep;
so innocent is your sleeping face.
I can hardly believing that this man
that I love so dearly
could take the life of anyone.

I walk to the kitchen
barefoot,
feeling the sand that has followed you home.
It covers everything
in a fine, gritty film,
a nagging memory
of the horrors you have faced.
The vacuum can't make this
go
away.

When you wake up
I look into your green eyes:
what have you seen
that makes your stare
look like that of an old man, much older than twenty?