good men

memories
of such things
visceral
prickly barbed
smelling of sweet
sweaty landscapes
unvoiced
still clamorous

strewn among our bones
our heads and teeth
in the iron of our blood

unseen
unfelt
until the unpacking
sometimes a reminder
a trigger
the snap —

where on earth
were we going
with all those things —
was it somewhere
beyond everything littered here —

we cannot minimize
the truth of the things
we left behind —

when old men die —
finally learning how things work
how life should be lived
right when they understand mercy
humility and women —
they die too young

in the end
from what abides at our cores
we cannot stray
from there we unfold our souls
to the last unknown