Infantryman

Angus blooming
hills unhid and bald out like eyes.
A pen, a wretched claw,
a carbomb, a sickled sky.

Crow black bursting starlings
of funnel cloud into
the tracers by the Blackhawk air.
Daybreak mosque,
the morning prayer.

Rubble swallows, mudnests
among the dead.
When you return, I will lick the glass
out of your forehead,
tuck you whole into the light.