A tile from a soldier’s story

Black bag — gleaming

Grey smudges of blood and dust

Of fingerprints you’ll never know

Paling face and cloudy eyes

That’s what they saw — that’s where he lay.

Instead you saw what you couldn’t be

The last glimpse of a cause you claimed

As your fingers led the zipper

To its end.

The life you took in

A mosaic of cells

A pattern yours couldn’t grasp

But with a wish could it be

The grave of your temple

With another’s eyes.

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