Here, and over here -
The fortunate sons

Those who made it home
To fields and hills of native tongue
In the soil their people toiled
- They listen quietly when we come


There, and over there -
Beneath crossed lines too many

Still - they man the trenches
Along the Marne and Somme
Below the woods of Belleau
And the forest of Argonne

No sonnets in a foreign language
Rendered where they languish -
The distant rest far and away
In a cold November grave


We should remember
Here and there
The old lie -

And the young.

r ~ 11/11/14

the autumn broods,
moody, full of leaf.
the sky sinks like
a silver ghost,
drinks its pools of
frost, its moments
full of dream.

I found your earrings on my window sill
I’m not sure how long they’ve been there or
If you know they’re missing
I’m too scared to move them
So I just pretend not to see

She found your earrings on my window sill
I didn’t know what to say
It’s been months and I can’t even utter your name
Still you lie on the window sill

Winter came and found your earrings by the window
Cold and harsh
That’s what I loved about you
I wonder what you loved about me
Did you love these earrings?
Do you think of them
Do you think of me?

I can hear my bones talking to God, they ask him why he hates us and he says he wrote the fracture lines in our skin with perfect precision, he did not create us with the knowledge to heal.
And yet.