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THE BUILD-UP

There in the border-land between

the water and the high ground of oaks

and fields, a stand of cedars huddle

like men in bulky overcoats, sway

in early evening westerlies as if shifting

weight from foot to foot to keep

warm while looking

across Conscience Bay at gray clouds

coming from the west like a great armada—imagine,

imagine flags flying, sailors on deck in full

parade dress, while we in our reviewing stand

watch, our women full of pride and protection,

our men feeling full of adventure, the beat

of battle blood, forgetting

the stench of rotting flesh, bodies blown

so fine there’s only a finger, a scrap of skin,

a bit of brain for the body bag.

Today, the sky is clear, as if with sleep,

yesterday’s fantasy floated away,

the armada mere clouds but we

are still blind to what is yet to come.