Four hour warning

I could have run with the others,
a deserter ahead of the missiles,
but what would I gain.?
Instead, I sit relaxed,
accept what will be;
make the most of these hourglass fragments,
at home with good friends and family.

We drink wine and dine on a light lunch with laughter,
contemplate the complicated nature of politics and war,
take time to linger,
try to understand our goodbyes.
My voice chokes
as I read out fugitive pieces,
poetry collections of memories and special places,
I wanted my tracks to be seen,
set in the concrete of existence.

The words were hard to find,
lost to crumpled paper and interruption,
hidden from my pen,
they still elude me now,
but these people know me,
even now they massage my frailties.

I stand,
a fiction of my own words,
no need for veils anymore,
I could never create the colours
that allow words to live,
a world beyond my capture
but not beyond regret.

The sirens have stopped;
I reach for familiar hands,
foreheads touch,
lips trace a brushed kiss before we hug.

I face the window
to watch our departure,
my mind
faces the door to imagine
our next journey.