This close I can walk home.
And when I get there I can't tell
about the trenches, or the shell-burst
that spread like a blossom, the way
it was lovely and the way I
loved it, not looking down.
Or the way
I stayed tired, or how I wanted:
water, a green pepper, a woman beneath
pulling me down to the stones
of my knees, into a well not
coming back, not looking down.