No quarter for 

captured raindrops
children women
in the great wilderness—
 
Hands clench at sheets
just another
fantastical dream
and not some war memory—
 
Yet I am a spent casualty of those wars now
 
Awake
palms trail across walls while I walk dim hallways
in my early brain fog before it is dawn
or I’m aware if I’m in wartime or peace again—
 
I hear my real family snoring
as I stumble past the last doorway
Get a fucking grip—
 
I am still a veteran of war
as the sole believer of dead raindrop people
even if the fact remains I was dreaming
the vivid atrocities I still recall in full detail.