Night's Watch

 We pass the flask
& flesh the night,
beneath our standard
(stare of star bed)
compass lost,

blank,

a smoking cackle
listened high
for blade & health,

shine & fire
of bitter thought:

there were better days

.....the night leans in.....
.....the camp is stirring.....
           (quiet)
.....a snap of twig
    or pissing bandit.

Days in sweat
for trite of sin,
freedom calls
the mongrel home...

whetstone slides
to gleam & hope,

a whispered crunch
of leather hide,

mind & raid
my will to cope.

I douse the fire
& wake the night
afore the break of dawn...
glint in dark
to sound the call...

& when the Sun is up
the standard shines.