1.
If the dreams stopped soldiering,
would I tell?
The winds overwhelm
the reasons grow
I put on my glory-coat
a night shift
2.
I put on my glory-coat
an amber shield
a coat like staring
like a piercing
Say nothing.
I try to say nothing.
But somewhere, something told.
This is the land of promises;
each is for the birds.
Their nests, scraps of:
old verses,
a day muddied,
night-shreds
a kept-wind,
lies before lies were written down.
Their nests:
tiered in past-hopes
past-claims
and traces of gold.
I give them the lining of my heart.
They are the archivists.
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