After the War

the bleeding never stops –
slow leak soaks through generations

one shot and death, change
creeping from the shadows of possibly

metamorphosis is a terrible gamble,
more often failure than wild success

she wasn’t there – on the corner
where buses exhale harsh air
and concrete waves break against steel
under an apostrophe of time –

but you were, print dress,
fresh smile, a jazz of motion

it’s still enough