there is a terrible oneness of self,
a totality of single-serving lives
all sip it from teacups sometimes...
some drown in a flood of its
mountain-cold rapids

to be resolute, to face the
falling of the light wearing
the face of Red-coat bravery,
a garment forgotten in the New World,
to carry on without comment
is an unspoken bargain, an
acceptance of defeat with dignity.

Our triumphs are of little notice
to those we struggle for.