West Wind 

She glides, a mist of white,
under the arch of swords slicing 
the Hawaiian sky.

Beside her, finally, this man...
back in his Navy dress whites
back from the haze of Napalm and Orange,
the smiling bar girls
back to this day, this new wife,
whore-goddess of his love letters,
co-pilot for re-entry.

She doesn't yet know of the scars
criss-crossing his heart,
or that his blood will burst hot
through its seams, burning her dress,
staining her ring, melting her flesh 
or that a west wind already rises 
to clatter her bones away.

Pris Campbell

Main Street Rag 2008

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