How dismal is the burning of the day
       as dusk ensues.        
Emerging from her burrow

               she tests her brittle light-
ON            OFF          ON          OFF
               her abdomen cold, yet hungry.

She seeks a mate-
               or so the males believe.
Tempted by her spark,

               they answer back.
The scanty light remaining
               reveals her true design-

the chewing jaws, the male deceived-
               while ragged cornstalks whisper,
               waving
                     goodnight
                           goodnight
                                   goodbye.

how sweetly she must hiss at me
my diamond death

I never meant to harm her day
she caught my breath

as I walked in green serene
in blessed ignorance

her gentle warning rattling
said her fangs were meant for me

for death is a woman
her coiling built for striking

gingerly I keep my distance
from beauty such as hers

as I bid her farewell
enjoy your sunlight

my love my death my dream
my sweetest of sweet poison

all the days of sea and sand
must surely curl away

relentless as the ebb
and flow of tides

as shorebirds hunt and peck
in sand and grit their lives away

other birds have made themselves
at home next to the crystal shore

their offspring pink
and warbling in the sun

young females preen their plumage
scrawny males hover in lust

later on the clouds come open
and all the shorebirds

damp and shivering
huddle under the eaves

fragrant with salty spray
teasing the senses

as the shorebirds
shimmer in the gloom

under boardwalks of dusk
and ice cream nights

I never heard the bullet call my name
I never felt the sunlight wash my face
I never heard my newborn baby's cry
I never saw her cradle when I died.

No one told me war was just a game
(they said I was a warrior- I was not)
that old men play with us, like we are toys
(they said I was a hero- I was not.)

Tell them to go and press my clean fatigues
and put my golden chevrons on my sleeves.
Tell my honor guard to have a care
for those who cannot know what soldiers bear.

Battlefields reveal the ways of war-
the bayonet impaled within a womb,
the scorching of the flesh that was a man-
rubble, piles and piles, an endless tomb.

If those who have a care for me and mine
may wish to say some words I'll never hear-
tell them, go away, and leave me be.
Tell them, mud and blood belong to me.

The blood that rushes in the womb
unfolds the waking of desires.
My fingers gather round the cord
and pull me, heaving, to your smiles.