Saturday, December 02, 2006
Across the river I see you, brother,
Or compatriot as you could be
In some other time
You look back, circumspect,
Seeing or not
It matters not, as does the question,
Is this fog or smoke?
We’re both lost travelers here.
Strangers in a strange land,
The Good Book puts it.
And were it morning,
I could just as well take coffee with you
As with my
From here I can’t see your markings
Yet still enemy I know you be
But we just look
And trade not fire, but sullen nods
For that river offers us a respite
From the cold holes
We shall fill tomorrow.