XXVIII

THE WOUNDED

Finally, I can see again,

through the shroud

of darkness that lingers.

It is a world of black and white,

some gray. Above and belching still

is the surviving twin, wounded and ailing

yet appearing as sturdy as his brother did

and so, giving me no reason for hope.

I aim my bicycle away when suddenly

visions break through. I am

unprepared for someone near me.

Like a sail in a Nantucket fog

looming up unexpectedly, I am startled

to see a man but a few feet from me.

He is quiet, staring down.

I regard him closely

wondering what has his eye.

Then I see. Like a schoolboy

intent on his final exam, he studies his legs.

His trousers are two-toned,

light brown at the belt and waist,

red from the knees and below to the shoes.

His blood spreads into the dust he stands on.

He is quiet, as is everything.