Time Wounds All Heels

I know the poet can stain the page with thought
   and the weaver can cast god's eye on the loom.
I know the highway kamikazes can explode and go
   on fading into the city's afterglow.

But if time wounds all heels
    & and there is blood in the fields,
                          & sands, & snows,
    & and all the places we used to go,
       tell me so,
                  I want to know.

I won't be afraid.
                        I'm lying.
I'm quick.
                        I'm dying.

I sleep at night with the TV roaring;
 dress the wounds and wait 'til morning.