I loved like an army,
at the brink of war—all battle plans, camouflage, shoot-to-kill, seizures. The romance, first tear gas, then morphine, nights
of white heat, sutures, slash-and-burn, shock. But then, right at the end of the 20th century,
in the year of the hostage, as if dropped by chopper,a bomb that didn't explode—you,
conscientious objector, accident, rapture, and me, auto aim and rapid fire.
Then the words I'll carry to the other side changed: mercy, surrender, standdown, light.