Dust on the canteen

Dust on the canteen,

red thread on my sleeve

You wrote from the orchard,

said "Come home if you leave"

The truck took the mountain road,

coughing through stone

I counted the ridges

and called them my own

At dusk by the wadi,

we shared one tin cup

A radio stuttered,

then the signal gave up

Your photograph traveled from pocket to

hand

A small patch of apricot,

green as the land

Hold fast, my brother,

the night will turn

Keep one match dry

for the bridge we burned

If the wind asks our names,

let it carry them far

We are more than the dust,

more than somebody's war

The captain spoke softly beneath the

iron sky

No medals were promised,

no reason why

We moved through the pass where

the cold rivers ran

And every young shadow

looked just like a man

When I return,

don't ask what I saw

Bring out the bread

and leave open the door

I'll sit by the window,

let silence explain

Why a boy can grow older

and still stay the same

Hold fast, my brother,

the night will turn

Keep one match dry

for the bridge we burned

If the wind asks our names,

let it carry them far

We are more than the dust,

more than somebody's war

Your letter is folded

beneath my guitar

The road keeps on turning,

but home is not far