Slip down the lines

With me;

Have evening interpose a

Fragile truce.

In equipoise let stand

Our warring fears—

Each pressed to command

Our spitting tongues.

Rout our souls to

Neutral hills, some

Rise from which the

State of play is seen:

Who has the flank,

Who has battalions in

Reserve,

Who still holds fire.

Then count the

Unspent shells

With me—

Such nights as this,

We measure love

By these.

June 2025

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