War

twisting in my sleep
I smell the blood and cordite
and lotus flowers
–
torrential rain-
countless lost
to take a hill

documenting war-
pages inked with the spilled blood
of the innocent
–
shimmering heat –
blood pools
in the desert sand

wet and matted hair
cold rain, hot blood, and cordite
soak into the dirt
–
a sparrow-
perched on
a ruined shell