flourish with triumphant connected arms before turning
to town and that cooling beer or, being Patriots’ Day,
an ironic salve of tea. And there are those who cannot
now walk or wave, any liquid balm drained to stains seen
from the other race above with a vivid aerial scene.
A weekend to celebrate a Revolution, or the Greeks - more
histories where meaning is also always on the move, and
whether the terror that descends is from the drone of
wars or some lunatic who demands their right to a gun
these innocents are as maimed or dead as all before,
here where other waves of red wash this concrete shore.
We could line them side by side across the miles of a
thousand marathons and still have prey for another run.