some progress

      

        The eleventh hour arrives

         In the first strike - my silence

         Time falls unstopped in its arc

         The hissing gas boiling liquids

         Sunlight strikes on my still back

         As my Sunday kitchen where?

         Where my thoughts do not find rest

         Where the uncaptured dead

          Alight in the remember of my stop

          The stirring of the bugle

          Livid rescinds the command

          A false sunset of rest

          More a call to volunteer

          More a call to sacrifice again