Hue Decoration Day

Tell the Spartans, stranger passing by, That here obedient to their laws we lie.

I am made in the mold of
White knuckled men
Who wake early
Regardless of the night before.
Precision is not an exacting science for them
Yet we know the weight of things
In the expression of them
The bones unmade
In things unseen

Bound over the horizon
Rec'ced the evening a'fore.
We do not stoop to saying what is unknown
We do not bide the time with uncertain men.
We do not kneel to anything made in the mold of hands before.
Yet we respect the work of of sweat
The debt of blood
The stain of tears woven into woolen flag folds
We kneel in offering to next of kin.

On this day
Ordinary to so many as are all our days
We kneel
Khaki knees wet with mountain grass
Chap-knuckled heart wreathed right hand
Cover them
As they pass.