Heated, colored stars catapult and cartwheel
In the smoking July sky.
I try to remember the veterans,
But you’re there,
Eyes, dreamy and skyward.
We are alive, did you know?--
Like a damn river,
But with tides that flip and saunter,
rolling lazily onto the shores.
Someone says that it sounds like a war.
Missiles popping and hissing, all angry.
and Babe, this is a war.
Like a grenade, you’re
holding my heart—
The hand ever-nearing the pin.
