The miscarriage strikes me like agony
And wakes up four or five reminders;
Dusty retainers of the kingdom of you and me.
All day it's felt like this-
One thousand drops,
One atop another. There is no room
For more, nor a place for cover.
All day it has been these birds
Screaming over one another's screams,
It is an assault upon my person that I do not care for.
If I could find you, it would all be over,
The Old Gaurde eager for new campaigns.
If you were here, you would roast these birds
And serve them to me, and we would be fulfilled.
But thinking about that is piling straw on a camel,
Buckling under the strain. Being here-
Standing at the bottom of the ocean and the rain is making the water swell more
And grow fatter.
I wipe some of the rust off my armor and re-shoulder my load.