Cigarettes and moonlight,

Solely isolation.

Cigarettes and moonlight,

Only out of desperation.

Charred remains of sandy shade,

Are all that’s left to wonder.

Small hands gripping oats and grain,

In calming splendor.

Now I lay me down to sleep,

Good mother’s picture I do keep,

In stolen jacket,

Vietnamese.

Purple gaze and killing days,

Are all now out to pasture.

The saintly sins of we,

“Good men.”

Are all that’s left to fester.

Indigo to Arkansas,

Timbuktu to Maw and Paw.

I came back,

But not really.

Because what I left out there was feeling.