The Public Face

News of the war
Reaches the front
And is scoured with more fervor
By those who serve there

Who are desperate for something
Resembling their lives
Not this skein of strings
That end nowhere.

The public face has little room
—After the giants have clashed
To have their lies all preserved
In the text—for the truth

Of the dog soldier, the parish priest,
The university poet, who look
As we do to the reported surface,
But they have places in the tribe,

They see how dreams are killed
And how something must arise in their wake:
The distance from the common,
The families left behind.