'...a captivating exploration of love, grief, and especially hope in a prisoner of war camp... But Pieces is also about violence, and therein lies something fascinating and even beautiful ... The lines are musical, lulling ... creates an enchanted, awful place where people are dying, where we don't want them to stop dying, so we can keep reading...' Donna Biffar: Orbis #121
Love is love: a tenderness shown, fingertips
brushing at specks on a beloved's shoulder;
unconscious acts of familiarity, hand or wrist
taken when walking, and the whole body turning
in towards and touching the other, hip to chest. Love.
Tower guards fire bursts down at the dogs
that disturb the graves beyond the fence.
Gate sentries have been seen to follow,
with their gunsights, a highflying crow
or gull, say "Bang." The dogs are left unburied,
grave rags and pink bones partially uncovered.
Bartering morsels for medicines, attentive to
the other's every breath, this one man advertises
his love, beams his pleasure in his lover's recovery.
Other prisoners look on this enactment of love's gestures
with dumb wonder, recall themselves being fathers,
that same gentling kiss upon a son's sharp hair,
headslant smile of companionship to a beside-them wife.