Ambush

The mud stirs,
a tuft of dark hair,
eyes and a boyish nose,
a darkened cheek,
mouth still lodged,
dropped.

The owner a scuffed collar,
a camouflaged blazer,
as patchy as the face,
a map of victories,
losses.
Falling pieces of sky,
turn nectar sour,
attacks the core,
washes the evidence,
stains of lost pride,
remain fresh,
blue.

Water grows from a corner,
drips a path,
parts mud from skin.
Hair sinks,
deeper into the shoulders,
falling into manhood.