We feel our way north,
Eyes outstretched against tides of dark.
Our footsteps murmur softly, stringing the empty air.
Cigarette butts glow, cupped in mud-dusted hands.Steamy breath eddies in the pines.
Their needles bristle beneath
Tread of leathered soles.
The road unreels beside us,
Slicing the moonshade.

A spittle of shots arches through the reeds.
Stocks lip-locked we scramble
Back through the lines.
We split into a clearing—

Grains soak in the pockmarked ground,
Smothered in bleeding boys,
Nighted in their black fatigues.
One of ours stands snivelling,
Dripping tears onto their unarmed breasts.
He cradles his rifle
Like a stilled new-born.

Their blonde faces petrify,
As their cheeks blush the dirt.
Blistering with the intimate revenge,
Their palms splay to the cold stars.