Horses at dusk

Da. Da. Da.
A young Russian soldier
says yes to a last cigarette
snatches the fragrant tar
from the boy with the Kalashnikov
his hair black and curly as lambswool
smokes with hurried gasps before —
Da. Da. Da.
A baby grasps at the beard
of his dying grandfather
white and curly as lambswool
smears the blood from the wound
opened by a Russian rocket
reaches for the eyes before —
Da. Da. Da.
A gun stitches the wound
closes the loop buries time forever
with a bullet, then two, then a gallop,
each thud deafening
like an Apocalyptic hoof descending upon —
Da. Da. Da.
The boy is father to the man
but blood is the mother of blood
Let us cycle through the simulations
rifle through the memories of Earth
file what we will take to the stars when —
Da. Da. Da.

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