from Mythomania
I imagine him reading this / telling me none of it happened
Nose broken from a punch, gushing—
I peel a red puddle off the ground
like a wet autumn leaf.
Using the smoke
from a soldering cigarette as thread,
I stitch it to the back
of the wounded boy.
Even in war, mercy.
After I finish, I look at his back,
admire my handiwork—
a window of burnt glass. (43)