Elegy for Peter

That night we drank warm whiskey in our parked car beyond woods now lost to the suburbs, I fell in love with you. What waited was the war like a bloody curtain, and a righteous moment when the lovely boy’s spine was snapped, then the long falling into hell. But lately, you’ve been calling me back through the years of bitter silence to tell me of another river of blood and of the highland’s howl at dusk of human voices blasted into ecstasy. That night in sweet Lorain we drank so long and hard we raised ourselves above the broken places, mill fires burning red against the sky. Why is there no end to this unraveling.