An absence filled by only my dreams,
A heart I ever-long to see so clearly--
Fade into an Iraqi sunset each night with your call to sleep.
Where do you go,
When they allow you to shift through dreams and
Cultivate a territory all your own?
The ammo and the mission,
Does it follow you there?
Wincing, I am wincing at the thought,
That a war would follow you to your bedside
And take the place of home.
But if I could be your Golden One,
And sit beside you as you wept for peace—
Arms would lower and the skies—
Would brighten. For at your beck and call,
I could send the fates. Tie a noose around your fears—
Draw it taught until this purgatory was no longer.
And all the while the demons were taking their bows,
Exiting—
I could stitch the wounds like Lady Barton. And cross
The veins of your heart and mine before I tied the knot.
Unto your bones, I would give my own lot—
My marrow and tissue to replenish yours lost.
Before I left to wash my hands,
I’d take the nails there from your own.
Die to your country, your cause, your profession
No longer. Exhale the strife of your militant plight,
My love.
Because if I could be your Golden One,
The moon would change the tides to finish this one for you --
Before you even woke.
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