A Combination of Losses, Then

In bitter clicks of day,
And not yet over a cough,
I walked the foolish dog
Through a burst of mingling snow.

We cut the first prints of feet
Into the deep white chill,
And saw the land so plain:
A skirt on the thigh of the earth.

We walked our steps along a berm.

At the age of twelve,
I charged here in a staggered run
(this they teach you early on).
An ash limb carved into
A battered M1 Garand,
I dove upon the crest to aim
At ranks of other men.

But now at thirty-one,
I know civilian works.
This berm's the crumple of a church
That burned down years ago.

Thirty-one years, and yes.
The same pre-Christmas chill.
These easy ways of normal sin -
A glass of scotch; a telephone call,
And a woman I don't love
Will come to me tonight.

Our chilly toes will touch
Outside the withering sheets.

Amid this world - so many things:
The railways, Europe, vineyards, and steam.
All these things that haven't seen
My steps upon their neck.
While I'm just here, and creeping away.
But what would myself redeem?
As if away would save me yet?
To go, and then be went?

To go, a way wherein
Unknown are paces of the wind.
Where the strong new storms are brewed
In seas that cool, and swell, and turn,
By a logic all their own -
Not just the nodding of a whim.