Fallen
are grateful for the feast.
Blood is a message
they remember
and understand.
And yet they begin kindly
with their tongues,
caress your face,
your arms, your hands.
It is almost enough
to believe you are alive.
Then the teeth sink in.
Such is hunger,
such is war.
Such is the state of man.
No flowers for the dead,
only this field ripe
with grief and bones.
February 12, 2006
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