Memories of Wildflecken
It unfurls like an ancient tapestry
- The town of Wildflecken
In the mountains of Bavaria
Where I soldiered in nineteen
Seventy eight. Our camp
Huddled on a hillside
Above the town like a sentry
In the snow. We maneuvered
In armored vehicles that belched
Exhaust, pungent and black
As dragon’s breath. At night
We bivouacked in starless forests
Where frost formed runes on trees
And dreams were pierced
By high-pitched songs
Of medieval spirits.
After weeks of training
In drifts and ripples of snow
I shed my boots and exposed
Chilblains stippled on my toes
— Crimson trophies
From the god of ice.
On the first glow of spring
I walked amidst the mixed pine
Forests that embrace
Wildflecken, my heart eased
By tufts of green at my feet
And azure sky above.
At a clearing the sun bade me lie
On the spongy earth
My folded jacket a pillow.
As I gazed at the vaulted sky
I could feel the hoary ghosts
Of winter, hidden deep
In the chambers
Of my bones, surrender
To the sun’s strident commands
Their wispy arms held high.