Red Line @ 5 am…under predawn storm cloud sky.

…Really puts things into perspective.

~You still believing in the beautiful light are ya?

How do you do that?  …You’re a magician to me.

~~I still see a spark in you.

Who iz really killing us?  The man with the gun?

Son?  Sun?  The Rising Sun? 

Our sons?   Soldiers’ eyes eyeing buzzards

Circling in our fathers’ sky?  The grass growing?

A soldiers’ cry?  A soldiers’ die?  A soldiers’

Most basic desire?  A soldiers’ question?

Click…seat a clip…click-click…bayonet?

Sun’s rays through the clouds?  Two fervent

opposing lines of sacred souls in the mourning dust?

Take the hill!  Damnit…TAKE the HILL!

Take…take…TAKE….  IS this all it is?

This real-estate…& this hydrocarbon

& this valor of being out of range

of a single shot that establishes

the vex-point of the thin red

line between one sacrificial

son & another?  This ire?

This passion for more?

This score, this torn

Revelation of man?

Who’s really killing us? 

The man with the gun?

…The man with the baton. 

[could it have been another way?]

…but they just keep

coming; one after another

in this box, …this moving box. 

Line after line...& so few islands.

& so few life rendering glances…

…to kindle that illusive spark of hope….

…Wish you all well today as we take to the streets and endeavor….