I Dream the Sacred Vowel

i stand on a clifftop.

a patient winged vulture                                                                                                          

flies toward a ravaged city,

lusts for carrion.                                                                                                 

war has found me.

i fear stepping

down toward the city,

knowing the charred

wind pipes of women

and children buried

beneath collateral damage,

knowing myself

capable of killing

my soft-voiced brothers.

where is the sacred

in modern war?                                               

meghan and the children

hold hands,

twirl in a tight circle.

laughter and limbs

kick mud

into open air.

i drop to my knees,

remember lightning bugs,

beeswax.

i trace a circle in red mud,

scoop the bone marrow O

into my palm.

love speeds a song

along the high arch

of a woman’s foot.

the children surround me.

jack—

you won’t come back,

someone else might.

ember—

fight with the right fist,

heal with the left palm.

seamus—

i’ll protect

the moons.

dylan—

if you look into the dusk sun,

remember dancing bear.

meghan sings—

when i rise in the deep night,

i’ll sing our song of ocean and wind.

i’ll draw a bath of salt and song

to bring you home,

to bring you home.

she slips a redgoldbrown

hair braided bracelet

onto my left wrist.

an unborn child appears and smiles.

i swallow the bone marrow O.

it settles behind my belly,

a warm coal, captured rainwater,

and step down toward the city.