Nights of a marriage are like an Egypt in a woods.

Dark around its edges mirror at the heart.

War has gone quiet.

It moves, a reflection: no.

Cheap theatre smell, rooms

settle and hiss. What is he doing. Sleep,

its hours pleat together and close

like a fan, what does she know.

Waters move slightly or do they.

Paths glide to them, to who? Glide off.

Vanishes

out of the marriage, into the marriage.

Troy

vanishes too, murmuring, stain

is a puzzle you do not want

the answer to.

Every war

needs

one.