Home Here It Is May

Time enough, the soldier
Stands to ready-wait stands parade-rest,
There is no War.

All the town dogs
Are barking up mewling crying
Up the May moon. It is not
Poetic. It is May. The town dogs
In scratchy heat,
The anarchy of twilight and
It is not yet warm.

Soldier quiets
Barking dog.
He stares the
Moon back down
And does not
Wish the morning
Up in any-way

It is May and he is still quite apt
To January. There were mortars
Above mountaintops the town
Lay cradled he did not he
Did not there was
The soldier.

All the fields are wet the
Streams are insatiable
And the sickly light of comingheat,
The birds, rustling with

There are no Wars
Now, the moon claims the
Dry-lightning of storms, he
Relates Cuba. It is not October
Nor will it be. There was
Not a war then and the
World is heated little changed

The town dogs are
Quieted it is May.

The soldier silences, standing-
Waits the
City is far
Off now.

It is not Summer.
There is no War