the tide, a never-ending olive green the advance made silently in the pitch black night, dark as the leather on their feet.
wading through the water a muddy yellow tinged with blood dripping like machine gun fire opened fire in the jungle thicket
the river is full of them treading panic water to escape treading on landmines - little pots of death leaving crates, cutting arms, legs, limbs gone, lost in the panic water
soldiers in the river, men in the panic water, friends in the throes of death clinging to each other, kissing olive canvas with red lips "Tell my girl I love her if I don't make it back!" holding each other while holding their breath listening, listening for the next agent to fall like rain
and orange the rain on viet cong, the american hatred dropping like bombs, on ferns and palm trees losing their green on children losing their voices from all the screaming and crying their fathers tired of fighting and hanging loose like landmine limbs, in the reeds by the river, waiting for death.