Take Aim, Noriega
If regrets were like pellets packed into a barrel,
My aim would sharpen as my heart swelled—
The tears to tear a hole in the target,
An end brought to bear from a trigger,
With the air cleared in a crash of smoke.
In truth, the shots we took solved nothing;
We were so young we couldn’t steady the sight.
So now I strain to make the music set it right,
For the hunt to find a harmony in amnesia,
And the night to bring the cool of anonymity.