In the bivouac

Below the splintered trees  

The faint hum of conversation

Keeps the world at home alive

–

The sharp eyes of their legion  

Trace the burning horizon,   

Swallowed whole by the soil

Never fully at ease  

Beyond the day’s dark labor

–

No one sheds their light

In that starving abyss,

Prowling through the broad shadows  

For a glimmer of youth

–

The line flares to life

At every snap of a branch

When silhouettes pour

From the snarling dusk