His was a face of tarnished brass
The verdigris heaviest around his eyes
A sweat weathering
Acidity of late days
absorbing harsh light and
harbouring it,
Molten memorial to sudden disasters
and their drawn out defeats
Before the rallying,
its slow river worrying
……of potential
burst banks
But not this firelack of oxygen,
terror
the vacuum
before an other reckoning,
an other
rebuild
Sleeves up,
still
the roiling
And always the bracing.
