Morgenstern joins you in the hangar.

There is a line you cannot cross,
And, beyond that, 57 bodies dressed in desert camouflage.
Your favorite among them, one you personally
Taught to enter the majesty and burning of his state,
Slips you a knife when the load techs aren’t looking.

This is a day for summaries, line items for your support form.
In each face you see a thousand good-byes, to water fountains,
To nights without the berm, to wandering weaponless in the mean
Mandala of twilight. You know, because you have studied now
For a first hundred days, the plane on the runway faces

Mecca.

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