Art Major to the Military History Minor

In the age before the ageless streams
You and I, agreeably,
Walked to the wild river's edge.
The whitecaps inspired in us a pledge:
In concord, we share everything.

In the time after that the clouds burst forth
and we witnessed thoughts, then births
Of storms of human madness and grief.
We learned our disciplines but took heed
Undone by colors and clashes.

But oh from the mountains active and high,
To their blueberry Pointillist hillsides I
Had sketched tomorrow, smeared faux-hieroglyphics.
Oh what a twist
Of fate that I had made it

Out of the depths of my own past intact.
To be thoroughly exact
One chooses edges and then calls for back-up
bolstered by the spirit who can't live with fractures
And I try to catch these notable diplomacies

In the roots at least of my painting.
Don't get me wrong, please.
I like standing, ears open, poised in time,
Waiting for the bell cry--it's easier than rhyme--
the Revere two-act that swoops up our world

And gallops toward hell with its tiny tomes
Of trillions and trillions of unclaimed treasures
Glittering in the night of the hope moon's light.
This rise and fall is what we both measure
And bring to the brush and the battle hymn.

Late Summer

We were driving
down Route 6
your stereo blasting
from dash to passing
scenery.

Corn and soy fields.
Muscle-thick
humidity.
The sky of sunset pinks
and reds.

You said
we would
be friends forever, said
"Damnit,
that's just the way it is."

That's the memory
in my head
and if pressed to say so
in my heart.
For what matter the corn?
what color the sky?
what shade of hazel
your eyes?

It makes no matter
to our storyline

for you were promising
and music
was everywhere
and they were
the very

same thing.