After all the circles in your inferno
    all the accusations before the docket
    the nails through the wrist
    the droughts of vinegar and arsenic
    "For the public good"
    the first stone thrown a thousand times
    in the batting cage of our home

            Late afternoon, yellow light sideways across sand
            September sidles up to the season
            Days disappear into dust
            Kicked up by convoys conducting presence patrols

                                                In villages

            Seven GMVs go out
            Sometimes only six return
            Brown Adder sunning itself

            Little hands of leaves

            Prayer like

            On the branch
            Withered from lightning

            The winter was a hard one
            Though not of discontent

            Little hands of leaves

            Prayer like

            On the branch
            Withered from lightning

            The winter was a hard one
            Though not of discontent

            Seasons iamb
            Like the farmer
            Rotating his fields
            Across the street

            It is evening here in Afghanistan
            Sunlight slides over earthen HESCOES
            Slants across the tent flap
            Muttering in the wind like rain
            Absent for the last 70 days.

            Late afternoon, yellow light sideways across sand
            September sidles up to the season
            Days disappear into dust
            Kicked up by convoys conducting presence patrols