by Richard H. Geisel

Stars dim and rotate, moon slides to the earth

Grey marches after dark, grey morphs to white pinks

Shadows grow, weaving across the flora

Here, the waltz of death

Buds awaken, petals catch dew

Fauna stirs, dampness rises to sticky humidity

As far as I can see, As far as I can smell

As far as I can hear, My world grows

Three nights and waiting, senses piercing

Are we the only people on earth

Eat, drink, sleep, watch, listen

Does anyone know we’re here

Squelch of the radio, morning check

All quiet, no count

Claymores not tripped, flares at the ready

Breathing pinpoints me, eating is a cacophony

Wait for movement, wait for resupply

Chatter at the bridge outpost below

There, the smell of life, the music of living

Here, the waltz of death

I reach out, my hand and arm cut by the grass

I bleed, I am real, I am here

A parallel world holds me, protects me

The distance is measured in blinks

My soul has not made the trip

Unlearn, learn

Coldness, darkness are my companions

Is this the morning, is this the day

Will random fates meet

The ultimate gesture, curse or reward

Can there be a good day to die

The long low sound of a 747

Freedom Bird from Ben Hoa, disturbs the air

No time to wander, no time to drift

Start the dance