The time

Was opportune.

My members all had mutinied,

Gone traitorous,

Withdrawn

Their mandate from the will,

And the will stood

A lonely sentinel

Afraid.

 

Behind my eyes

The minds limbs had grown gaunt,

Gnarled,

Defoliate.

And through all

The Simmoom of a desiccating want

Ceaselessly parched.

 

You,

Were a call to combat.

Eyes

Shafting javelins,

Shoulder sabre-slashing

In your voice

Pre-empting mutters of musketry.

 

I

Being flint and tinder

Rasped into scintillance,

Ignited

A fuse of fire along the blood,

Attained

A sudden unity of intent

And attacked.

 

The conflict

Was un-conclusive

For, although

I claimed the spoils of victory,

Your eyes reminded me

That I remained

An un-admitted alien.

 

And so we lay

In the final hour of the dark

Each one from the other

Isolate,

While our selves

Warily in the trucial-space between

Made parley.

 

Until

Weary of provocation,

And tired of pretence,

You slipped with one sad utterance the mask.

And your eyes broke

And spilled their pity on my breast.

 

Losing

All inclination for the fray,

I stood my forces down,

Disbanded them

And, coming close,

Surrendered.

(Through your sleep

You smiled a weary smile of victory)

 

And then the grave young Day

Crept in

And stood beside us.

And the courteous Dawn-wind

Hushed his breath a little.

And the birds,

For fear of awakening us,

Slept on.

And the sun rose on a morning full of peace.