(1)
(Retiro Park, Madrid)
Men died here, fighting from behind
Thick oaks, whose wet leaves working in
To mounds of earth suggest shared graves,
If little else, to judge from tight-
Lipped veterans marching back and forth
In their bemedalled best. Heads bowed
In thought, they seem unable to
Shrug off, inter survivors’ guilt,
The past that clings and rots, while trees
In weeping shed and bury theirs.
(2)
(Rethymnon, Crete)
The winter mountains clad like gods
In snow that only fell last night
Stand suddenly much closer to
A town still occupied with war,
Besieging with a stronger light
And fresher air the ruined streets
And fortress walls, as though they want,
Before the thaw and their retreat
Into the plains, to liberate
From memories the TPI’s
And widows always dressed in black
Who barely offer them a glance.