For Farrah


To see clearly for once, beyond the horizon to


your paradise.

To fight through gales of frigid wind,

through furious rain,

through sight-stopping sleet.

To trudge through mud that swallows you

to brow deep.

To know that, in a sudden burst of light,

your paradise may vanish –

gone in the mysts or confessed as mirage,

Oasis turned to wilderness.


To know all this,

and yet to fight and die –

against yourself and augury,

or history, reason, fate –

for no more than an instant of this joy,

a momentary taste of bliss.

To know, without a shred of doubt,

that every battle of this war is worth it.


To love.


What more is there to say?

To sleep, to dream,

though surely wake again.

What more can prayers reply?

To live, to love,

and then to die.