I was following a cart
achilles tendons taut like cords
were playing the march of retreat
the teeth-bitten sword
scraping over stones glistened
I wasn’t last behind me
the line stretched to the horizon
where the red setting sun blazed
the battle was one of many
I don’t even know who
we were trying unsuccessfully to invade this time
to impose a new way of life
I myself already lost
this addiction long ago
I am a good enough soldier
to follow orders tell the truth
for a long time I haven’t read any of those
whose names are written in the chronicles
more and more often I think maybe
they never existed
imagination drifted from art
into masculine occupations
sometimes I think maybe the enemy is different
maybe not ours maybe not an enemy
maybe I just stumble on a clod of clay
bump my head on the door casing
then rave through the nights
about an avatar of god on earth
avatars of a man in heaven
more often I dream of someplace warmer
somewhere in a curia or chancery
to write letters of condolence to mothers of soldiers
to make out health certificates
though I know how such a life ends
I was dragging into middle age
behind my back an inhuman fire glowed
before my eyes unconquered lands stretched
it was autumn the most beautiful season