in peacetime –

dancing, tripping, dwindling down sure streets

in half-stance, half-beat

these our things gone raveling

before our Sight; who

would you, Angel, say

is the mouthpiece? Who conflates

the theories

to produce a story? Who are

we singing for?

(Is it in our Ache we arrive at Unity, there

the mongrel kin assuaging pain

with careful petition?) Here,

where the warm sun and

the cool night confront each other

you discharge

your duties with tact

and a certain awe at your surroundings; what

of the children, they who search

you with dark eyes wondering

who you are, a soldier lost without

a battlefield a

bearded Man now finding Truth

in subtle things -- Veteran of a vacant War

now simmering, unsure --