marchers they
marchers they
by tanner brockwell
marchers they
in the driving wind
and the storm that hailed
no stragglers
no numbers missing
but a dozen
through the waste
fortuitous this day
that none had fallen
yet all would rise
last night dreams turquoise
were briefest comfort
the slack sail
tied up boat
on the shore
waiting a return
but for journey
to continue this day
slack this thirst
but not on the frozen stones
the wind has a soul
torn as it wills
the landing place quiet
a dream each in solitude
marchers they
but a dozen
were to seek but a legend
continuities
the succession of moments
the vertical datum
glimmering in ascension
measure measure
for toil or treasure
when yet these winds would cease
three to the ides sayest thee
for ides would be past gone
the measure that thou takest yet
but a jigger of courage then
for parched throats for courage whence
the night a type of stockade
has armors and defenses
oh but the shining
forgetful then
there is an oblivion
mark thus a measure
the immobile chill
luna tearful cried
and sorrow such is only hushed
in some frozen sleep
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