ethan’s hit.  the wound is steaming

and  i’m trying to stop the bleeding

and he’s choking, gasping, pleading

for his life.

and he lifts his arm towards somewhere

as if someone’s going to be there

past the bayonets, past the bullets

past the strife.

there’s a catch to ethan’s breathing

and i fear that he is leaving but he

grabs my hand and pulls it

to his heart.

and i bend to hear him tell me

as if not to overwhelm me

we are not alone at all when

we depart.