DiaBLOGue

I knew it was dawn 
With the sun blurring whitely 
Through the gray clouds, 
But I’m glad someone wrote that. 
The light and the words make a bridge 
Across the water to the sand. 

            That whole war we were never told what 
was happening, never given a plan. We thought there 
were only a few, but one day they covered 
the hilltops around us. One shot would mean a massacre;

“Go get dressed. You’re no man for this army!”
I went, thanking for the first time that crook
In my spine that had stopped me buck naked
From buck privacy, taken me back to you 
After a three-hour, not a three-year, separation. 

You notice the smells first, more spring, or
even summer, than late fall, the stale-clean
scent of wet sunlit streets after last night’s 
heavy rain, the musk of soaked dead leaves,
humid decay in a season usually dry, a
shining solstice sigh through open windows,
suspended on a candent morning breeze.