Day 521/Ceasefire Day 51

How did you make it through, the man
asks his friend.  They are sitting together
on a slab of concrete, watching the sunset.
The sky streaked with red, gold.  The man
who has asked the question looks
at his friend:  he has grown thin, has lost
his hair, his hands shake a little.  He too
has changed.  The sky is darkening, sapphire
replaces some of the red. Make it through?
the friend answers.  His answer is only
a question.  The man who has asked
the question lays his hand
over his friend’s shaking hand.  He knows
the losses go beyond flesh, beyond hair.
Four of his friend’s children lie 
under the rubble.  His mother, his sister.
Make it through? the friend says again,
as though to the air, the sky
where now a few stars have begun to appear.