the crate

High on the hill

Where the flags are waving

We wait for the forest's rage to quiet down

And the silence to be flattened against the floor

Our rifles at its head.

When we began, we had to ignore what our marches represented

Because it was our duty to lead our shadows on,

For the good, for the good.

Even if we kill, even if we sin

Our cloaks covered in hugs and kisses

Goodbyes now phantoms, an age away.

We knew it would only take the jolt of a trigger

For the charging spark to release

As the Gods watched on at the war, thinking

"What a long awaited dose of entertainment!"

At what end, at what end?

...

We closed our eyes and the salty tears came

Wasting energy for the kisses of the sun.

Another day; we loved playing at the beach

Joy at every glance, every touch below the waist.

...

Ignore me, forget me, there's barely blue in the clouds anymore

We march forward but I doubt they'll plant flowers where we fall.

Is it such a crime to have found the end

To the clock chained to my destiny?

And dislike it, and dislike it

The inside-out footsteps of what we just evaded -

Even the windows jolt, welcoming us to be marked by their raw edges;

Because to break them ourselves would have been too much to see through to the other side.

...

We wrote wishes on folded paper daffodils

And sent them sparkling into the river's mouth

Where we prayed the ocean's greatest friends

Would speak the words to the stars on our behalf

And we could sleep without the sounds of ghosts, alive.

...

Floating unconditionally was the price of glory

But I'd much prefer my name and grave to marked with the reminder

Of the distances I carried flags

And the hills where the pain must have originally begun.

The cost, extraordinary.

We could never untie the string holding our fleece and bones together.