Deployment

Some soldier buddy of yours
took a picture of a haji’s head
that he held by its hairs
after the street bomb
near the pet shop.
Bird feathers snowed
over you for months
while I wondered
if your rifle barrel, stuffed
with tiny beaks,
had a morning song.

I read all of your letters
in the bathtub, smudged
the words that didn’t suit you,
held my breath so long-
my hairs turned pewter under
the faucet as I imagined not having a body.
Wet at the mirror,
I grew into my aging face, watched
your piano wire shorthand
crawl off the wet page
to slide around my ring finger
and lace my warm neck.

We share a tent
now that you’re home
kiss and drink whisky as it pours
overhead. Once humidity
seeps through the zipper,
I head to the car to lie
without you for the night.
You’re used to your sleeping bag-
the romance of dark ground.