You have seen the mornings indefatigable,
armed by stalwart rains
and the crenellation of a thousand clouds.
I have seen you on the other side of days.
You have looked outside, and war: the pounding pace of deluge
a moment or two away. The morning
stretched like the back of flatirons, mist
marching up its spine.
Quiet now! Harrowing trumpets as you fumble for your slippers:
wailing sirens ricocheting off the city. The tanked
brigade of garbage trucks rolling through the sog.
The infantry forming—fast!—flags at mast—whipping in a seize—
weapons on the cusp!
All too much for me!
between my sweat-soaked sheets,
a sagging, fevered face, and you across the charge—
We stare, blankly. Fears into the void.
Two of us against the day.
In the melee soon, my friend: we climb, we fight, we win.
And then again.
