I see them hobbling
down foothills
where I live now in retreat,
what’s left bulky on their backs,
obscure as porcupines
under folds of stocking hats
and runaway beards,
buddies, brothers,
uncles, fathers, cousins,
circling a lost LZ.
I see them puzzled at highway exits
like elk or bear
when winter lasts too long,
a species still wanting to live,
destinations scribbled on cardboard signs,
ears tied with bandanas
hiding the sound of the torn air
that split them through the middle,
the sound no one can explain,
that no one else will ever hear.