Looking Back on It

The decision to bomb the outskirts of the town,

the wish to bring the mission (and the war)

to completion, the nights filled with fire, the days of drowse

a casual conversation with more

than-casual accrues the nothing happening,

the silkworm threading its life, the organ of sights stung with sweat,

the near-escape, then the nearest the falling off,

the pursuit in air, the pursuit upon foot,

a lucky break, the conduit discovered,

flesh upon flesh on fire on the cover

the razor blade, the exotic everything,

the impossible distance breached at last,

natural light curling, bat guano building,

a move swiftly for cover and a dive into bushes,

the chop behind the ear, the sand between the toes,

the flexibility of schedule, the imposition

turn us in a certain direction

that, one time we were on course, kept us going,

not sustaining us, on the contrary not destroying us,

not notwithstanding and the curve of it all, the trajectory

captured for us the point of time

not transcendent, not epiphanic,

but not earthly either, and clear vision

was the last thing we wanted, could bear

Copyright World Poetry, Incorporated Jul/Aug 1998

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