Once he followed simple rules
of casual strength,
summoned violence with the flick
of combat ribbon or hash mark;
now he forces a pulse into treasonous muscles
and commands soap opera villains.
He is camped in a world regimented
by glowing tubes,
his olive-black skin begging for the fire
of unlimited color.
In towns where he can follow
the orders of silence,
gunfights are replayed
in thirty-minute intervals
familiar as his stiff right arm
or the steel brace scaffolding his leg.

By midday the room is filled
with game shows and private eyes hurling
questions against all those who swear
their innocence;
his wife is in full retreat
and jumps when he answers in half-formed words
of single grunts deadly as shrapnel.
He need not remind her
he is always the hero;
the palms of his hands
are muddy with old battle lines.
He has fallen
heir to brutal days where he moves
battalions of enemies;
his mornings are shattered with harsh echoes
of their electronic voices.
Here he is on neutral ground
and need not struggle to capture words
he can no longer force his brain to master;
he plans his roster
and does not attend to his wife’s
rapid-fire review of the neighbor’s behavior.
He recalls too clearly the demarcation of blacks,
of Buffalo Soldier and 93rd Division.
By late afternoon he is seen rigidly
polishing his car in broad one-arm swipes,
its side windows and bumpers emblazoned
with stickers: US ARMY RETIRED REGULAR

(for John Gardner)

you are like a book
of vivid Welsh dreams
singleminded as Benin kings
who believed in the sheer power
of personal blood

even your slight paunch
suggests feasts
in cold castles
your smile
uneven as a rosary of charms
worn by Druids

your myths echo the lines
etched and grouped in your hands
like characters from Gothic plays
you move on gusts of wind
uneasy murmurs of air
from caves, bogs or hoarfrost

you break codes
of consonantal languages
plead innocence
in the wake of confusion
as you flee toward fogbound moors
your eyes like astroblue stones
plucked from space

you focus on distant points
conjure and shape our lives
we dance to charm you
and we are charmed
you draw us into stories of horror
feed us scraps of fascination.

toss us tales spun through your hair
like rings from the moon
beckon us to fall through
layers of light
and like gaunt hounds
we drool and beg
for blood and bones