April was a rough month.

                       Talismans

How does the fireman kiss his son goodnight--

How does he shake the ash of other lives from his hair

and bend to touch the damp forehead?

What gargoyles guard his gate--

What lamb’s blood smears his door?

How does the highway patrolman

hand the car keys to his daughter?

What Gods Eye does his heart tattoo

on the thin skin of her wrist?

What hoodoo prayers are in his head

with all that twisted metal?

What words does he choose for her

after his steady urgent voice

has been the tripwire  

to a rippling explosion

crashing rings of lives? 

And the surgeon,

bloody gloved and bone weary

from his concentration,

Does he walk under the trees to lunch

Searching their flickering greens for magic--

desperate for some forgotten wonderwork

some wizardry, some rune--

To beat back what he knows.

Find me the amulets of those

 patrolling the edge of the abyss.

Find me the talismans of the watchmen.