IN THE POCKET OF THE WOUNDED SOLDIER – ‘The forgotten woman is the soldier who was crucified’ (Miltos Sachtouris) in the pocket of the wounded soldier lay a handful of leaves in the pocket of the wounded soldier grew an ear full of corn an ear full of dust! an ear full of the first blue morning glory. when the wounded soldier put his hand in the pocket and found god, he died. his eyes were blue as morning glory his hands as red as the good red earth his eyelashes were stamens of clematis flowers seen on the wall in the backyard of his lover, the moon a pool of blood turned silver the sun rose in the afternoon. on the day the wounded soldier's eyes closed he sang a song tulips danced, tambourines played like a fountain of wheat the hare raised its paw and saluted even the cat paused in the matter of washing her ears and listened. the song on the soldier's lips blossomed like a cuckoo feather his feet danced a soldier's dance known only to roots grown deep in battlefields, his hips swayed like a water lily in his cupped palms a bee landed, a swallow settled, a dragonfly darted back again to take a closer look at his skin.