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.

 

— Dennis Trujillo