memory sleeps
beneath time’s blanket,
closes its eyes,
and disappears in dream.
life is leveled, edges beveled
smooth and regular.
days pass.
thirty-seven years later
a helicopter is shot down
in Afghanistan.
men are lost
and fear chokes me
again, high above hills and jungle,
taking fire from below,
a Chinook just like theirs,
frantic to fly
away.