Patrol

This is what you do
0n patrol in the woods,
Fort Lewis, Washington,
when no one is there:
You happen upon a trillium
white and secret as God in a shadow.
You bow down saying,
"Thank you for showing me
what’s inside."
Six months later
on patrol in Fallujah
you happen upon a girl
three days dead in the rubble,
her body cut nearly in half
by American fire,
your fire, my fire.
Her large intestine blossoms in the desert sun,
a terrible sweetness in your nostrils.
You bow down saying,
"Thank you for showing me
what's inside."
It is your last war.