Man Alone

Big, angry hands
have felt damp thighs after sex,
moist ground after rain.
These hands, my hands,
so quick to hurt
yet seeking to soften, stroke,
ease their pain.

Feet, blistered and bruised,
have run from the light,
the blinding white light.
These feet, my feet,
time to rest, to be washed,
cleansed, and renewed.

Memories, red and raw,
fade with time.
Honoring the code crossed the line.
Visions in the back of my mind
find no ration nor rhyme.
Slanted, furious eyes, my eyes,
have seen green ink, golden tongues,
an array of blacks and silvers.
They have bled in awakening
and cried.

Yet I am never satisfied.