In my place walk the night
And bear my grievous, sad and anxious burden.
Igor Isayev

The field-winds are sweet, the stars breathe in.
Ablaze, they cry aloud, the living die, and then
they swarm among us. No pasture for the dead
but land and ocean, air and swaying tree, I hear
them chant in unison. The whispers at dawn
fade into light, out of dark where they belong.
Yet quick, the sun coils down, crickets quiet,
and frogsongs from trees and mud take charge.
Who can hear their calls, who can know the doom
to come? The dark induced by rockets, drones,
still occupies the world, settles over dreams.
We think we own the earth, but there’s a higher price.
Come home soldiers, the women have been brave
but fooled enough. Come home, you hoodwinked soldiers.

*  Published also in Home Planet News