Seeds With Scalpels

They crawl over each other
like ants
or soldiers
taking a beach
relentlessly.

We’ve witnessed this day,
the gray sunrise,
dead and injured,
the widows
and the hollow children.

They reach a noble goal
no doubt,
but are sewing
their seeds and sutures
with a scalpel.

We swaddle the body
in a flag,
in a pine box,
and refuse to dishonor
the memory.

*five line stanzas, varying, almost alternating line length, end stopped stanza. Movement, movement, movement, but always to the same end.

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A day is not done, until it's filled with words.

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