Over Tigris, in the Night. A (Rough) First Draft
In a quiet waiting line
of Soldiers at the twilight.
Stirring when we hear
the rotor whine of
blades come near.
The crew chief waves us o’er
to his waiting craft.
Armored, belted, locked we sit
near each open door
on the frame – we lift!
Over groves of date palm
and scattered farms we streak.
Turning to follow Tigris’ path along,
our rotors sound an airborne Psalm.
A turbine-soul, given song.
Baghdad’s lights catch me
with a dazzling flash.
So low flew our mission
o’er Tigris’ flow, it seemed we
slipped into a dream-like vision
A flare a-lights, joins our Iraqi night,
but soon melts into the City colors.
The door gunners keep watch upon
the River banks as our flight
soars over bridges there - then gone.
We turn by the heart of Baghdad,
and the crew scans the night
one last time. Soon we dropped
to the silent concrete pad,
the rotor hum then abated.
Though my day was passing long,
the night had shown me wonders
and I was loathe to let them go.
Reverie takes the place of engine-song
The others silent, perhaps thinking so.