after the war

was i awake for any of it then
anymore than i am now
i see versions of me chestcrossing
compulsively in the corners
of an empty hall where
we hang paper lanterns up
melt the tealights at the bottoms
go out and lead the rosary
in gracious escape
to the funerals along the highway

what shingled figure did i see
steal out the front door to cry
i never followed and forgot
until now - it's too late anyway
to ask what was wrong