On the first warm night, for I have known winter,  I walked through the
 door, with fear,  a thick coat, upon
 my back, in icy anticipation,
  the moon – a visage
, a blue glowing through the thickets 
and trees, the scented, soft black air -
  it was there then that 
I laid down my arms.


I would, with an ecstatic soul, call it an embarking; through the womb of an old country, a ceremony of  euphoric roses,   red, silent, explosions, a blanket over now disquieted bones, the spangled skies, the glistening shores.