Dying Summer's Psalm

white flags.
medic.
somewhere quiet to turn
my face to the wall. surrender.
no more battle. this hope thing
costs.
who fights for me? wounds
unable to be sewn shut.
mistakes. words i cannot
unsay. after all maybe
i was wrong.
maybe.
a butterfly. no, two.
fragile creatures sustained in this
hot twilight.
jet stream saluting the
waxing half moon. hidden.
growing daily until
its luscious full orb,
harvest-ready, appears.
beauty.
arrested by sweet reminders of
the love of my Warrior King.
surely
You are right.