The Narrows

The Narrows

A van.
Gunfire.
Order falls.

Inside, the glow of shared purpose fades
under flickering fluorescents—
new management,
new smiles,
new lies.

Outside, the world forgets itself.

A yarddog snaps commands
and his partner grins with the ruin of empires.

I remember tanks
rolling over tents
and a lone man waving—
soft
firm against steel

I find her—
my trusted one—
turned to wood,
shrinking.

I hold her. Refuse her erasure.

We walk forward
carrying
a flicker.

Our meditations
must have purpose.