sitting in the kitchen
your uniform is on
light is breaking past
the swinging gate
on our front lawn
as you wipe our fingerprints
from the barrel of your gun
It’s a long way down
from the Spree river, to the Rhine
I’ve lost count
everything I left behind
sitting in the garden
you were still in bed, asleep
I prayed, the lord,
my nerves to steal,
but for my soul to keep
steel against my fingertips
they barreled underneath
It’s a long way down
from the Spree river, to the Rhine
I’ve lost count
what I hoped to find
one can only expect
a certain kind of life
push until the excess
oozes down the sides
wipe it clean until
you can no longer recognize