by Michael Schuval

You and me, we come
thru this world of stone
soldiers of fortune
all on our own
marchers in the crowd
faces among faces
You can’t pick us out
You can’t take us away
We’re caught in the middle
                   asides in the play

Soldiers of fortune shielding
our eyes on streets
of grey shadows
mingled anonymity on fields
of forgetting
leasing our breath to
the birds—invisibility
but it’s okay isn’t it

true to the creed
of being true to no creed
believing to bruise
is far better than to
we’re down on the ground
while we’re high in the sky
we are soldiers of fortune
fey, picayune, & quite sly

we slip through cracks
through back doors
into dark windows easily
no one sees, not even
no one cares, not even
the earth
no one begs, no mother
gives a thought, or drops
a sigh

we are soldiers of fortune
remember us we
meld into buildings
merge into reflections
we are alone together
a chorus of silence
marching with one will
toward identical evenings

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