confessions of a traitor, crunching
through the eve
you do not know where the candle is, but
it is somewhere, it must be
white flags of surrender
waving
II.
the train calls in the distance, a fragile howl, a tired owl
the creases in the clothes of the passengers, the
dingy greens and browns
soldiers of war, our wars, their wars of silence
III.
her chest is crackling
IV.
she is the scent of a candle
the smoke and
the shadows crowding in.