years of  practice for a soft
landing in the slaughter
we looked far off to
a flag sewn into flesh
dear enemy come down the
hill I have taken a title out
of  the love for you jumping
down the clear shaft of  your eye
you would not know how long I
paused when writing this unless
I said so in the poem
half an hour staring
at the pencil having
written of  my enemy with
love and fight to maintain
the ascension
voices from a
room no one exits
we pry genocide out
of  the museum but
meant to remove
the museum
from genocide