On An Ancient Battlefield Poem by Daniel Brick

Pelle mala, terge sordes,
Et discordes fac concordes,
Et affer praesidium.
Adam de Saint Victor
Chartres,12th century A.D.
****** ****** ******

You arrived early to this one-time
battlefield, and not encountering any
opposition, declared yourself the victor.
I arrived second, and saw your back
turned on me. Had you seen me, and
turned away, or have you been staring
at something over there, in that field
of grass and wild flowers, where
an ancient battle was decided in favor
of an upstart, a traitor blessed with luck.
A place like this rewards respect:
if you have questions, it answers;
if you have answers, it confirms.
It does not prattle with traps
or confuse with prevarications.
Besides you are smarter than those
warlords who risked everything
for absolute power. But none of this
speaks to me anymore. My eyes strain
to see all of you in diminishing light.
And a whole season of silence and stillness
has gone by as we stand our ground.

The ice lake you stand on is snow-covered,
crystalline, flashing snow that hides
the danger of our being here. We are dazzled by
such glimpses of beauty. In those suspended
moments, when your destiny and mine hangs
by a thread, you look for a lane of light
shifting in your direction. When it appears.
you will pounce on its slippery surface.
You never slip or falter. Is it the light
that protects you...?

We are as far from each other
as we will ever be, at this moment
any hope of reconciliation is as remote
as the crack of spring thaw in the frozen
air. Even more so - your heart is hardened,
it will never give you leave...
It might be easier to resolve our impasse
with columns of knights in heavy armor,
their horses festooned with symbolic plumes,
both men and horses anxious for the clash
of arms. This is what they live for:
this is what they die for. And afterwards
one of us could pick up the pieces, and
declare a victory. But that was history,
a solution from another time. Are we not
smarter than those ancient warriors?
Furthermore, -

I wait for you here
in this cold region, trying
not to look like I'm waiting
for you. I hear a faint sound
of shifting waters below the ice
you stand on. You must hear it too.
Is that the last sound we will ever
share? When you finally turn
to face me, will there only be
footprints in the snow, and
in the distance a blot of color
that is my silent departure across frozen grass.