Here we are so miraculously
in an ancient and holy land
so high-speed and presumptuous,
dusting our weapons and buttressing big tobacco.
My thoughts are a perfectly formed skipping stone in my pocket
as I scan the desert horizon.
I am nameless and aware of the enemy.
I disappear behind my eyes and retract my soul.
If my name is written on brass,
it is by that name that the spirit will release me.
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