The Pace of Waiting

   by Jason Sturner

The sunflowers grow tall
     in fields we don’t know,
leaning over the broken bodies

of men younger than the day
     of men wiser
than night.

Soldiers   inhaling
the light of sunset;
a reveille to the angels.

These men  chivalrous,
sanguine; anxious to make proud
their transfigured fathers.

Unaware, it would seem,
of the world’s way of forgetting
     and not forgiving.

These men . . . a man, dreaming
in black and blue. Wondering if the
blood, the pain, is a gift for his god.

Hoping invisible hands
will gather all his relevant pieces
     and let his hour be peaceful.

That those he loves most
will conquer this distance
         sit alongside him,
and carry him home.