Written for Armistice Day, 2015.
I lie in dust, a building broken into a bed for my fallen body. For a week now, the summer sun has not set, a bright ellipse in our smoke-faded firmament.
Not a sun, but an ill-omened comet, her tail pinned under a jackboot. She spins on that leash, careening between bombardments, straining to escape the siege horizons.
With her desperate straining toward the horizon, toward night, slowly the tether stretches.
She wallows for an hour, invisibly, in a violet sea.
Night! For sleep, for concealment, for hope.
Look! Here comes a deeper shadow. Someone is coming to rescue me.