Pantoum: The Long March


Something like the wind moved overhead, a kind of call;
so we collected ourselves, prepared to press forward again.
How long we've been on this road-- too long to remember:
travelers bonded in history by blood and circumstance.

So we collected ourselves, prepared to press forward again,
the clamor in the streets changing throughout the day.
Travelers bonded in history by blood and circumstance, 
exchanging coins for bread, sinews for building stones.

The clamor in the streets changed through the day---
Rooster crow, pickaxes in the dirt, high whine of planes.
Exchanging coins for bread, sinews for building stones,
until the hills and forest line came into view.

Rooster crow, pickaxes in the dirt, high whine of planes:
receding wall of tiki torches lit with their angry glow.
Until the hills and forest line came into view,  
we rode in silence. We listened to the bards and singers 

douse with song those tiki torches lit with angry yellow.
A brightness streaked through the sky, gold as our hope.
We'd borne so much in silence, listening to bards and singers.
Something like the wind moved overhead, a kind of call. 

 
 

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