the furies were before Apollo Anyone was.  i bind Bush and Cheney and Rumsfeld, and their tongues and words and deeds; if they are planning war for today let it be in vain.  Beloved Earth restrain them, and make them powerless and useless.  Beloved Earth, help me, and since i have been wronged by them, i bind them, says Mira. i hand them over to Hekate eater of what has been demanded by the dead women.  of the underworld of the crossroads of negative space.  not Hekate but Alma.  are we the furies asks Mara.  i am the fates Moira says.  but i am light and Apollo is not Luz says.  i went to the widow's store to buy food for my love.  i bought him chard and courgettes, small, hanging from orange-flowering stems.  i called them tender vegetables, but i had forgotten my keys, because he's no longer at home to unlock the door to.  do i have a home.  the coffee is weak.  his paintings are not yet dry, embedded into the long table along the auditorium wall.  they communicate his love in abstract shapes and transparent colors.  the paint is still wet, does he come from the dead, at night, to paint them?
   it's morning it's the same, i can't remember sleeping.  i last remember walking in this corridor last night.  i've forgotten the intervening time, it's as if i'm still walking from then.  because nothing happens?  can i forget you?  "the U.S. servicemen are still at risk."  Newsweek. "unprecedented, real-time glimpse at an ongoing Green Beret mission."  is it as dangerous as my love's cancer was?  "the team spotted a campfire." etcetera.  "Team leader Dean quotes Shakespeare from memory." yes but my love was a poet.  "The men slowly made their way down the narrow road etc." bloody accuracy of attacks. Atta could see the bodies of Taliban soldiers blown into the air.  "We wanted to show him we could help him beyond boots and clothes," says Dean.  Beloved Earth restrain them all and make those fighting anywhere powerless and useless.  i can't remember what happened in between because he died that year, between walking at night and walking in the morning.  i forget that there was a wheelchair here, and a hospital table; forget the scars on his back from the vertebral surgeries, the pain and the changes of pain medication, bathing him and how it hurt.  scars still in the wall from where the backrest chipped paint.  and how at every description of physical invasion of another person, whether surgical or criminal or military, he cried out in protest and empathy -- because he too has been invaded.  wants no one else to suffer so.