What I didn’t suspect about
war is that there’d be
music
Not the kind that compels you to move
in harmonious discord
with the others
Nor the kind that creates a burning
in the loins to mix breath
with breath
But the kind that irradiates
every surviving nucleus
rendering you a creature
absolutely new
facing the passage of time
naked and unashamed
In the intervals between
war and worse, we discern the score
ready to whir with
planets and stars that coil
around our fragile core
orderly and composed
like a tragic chorus