Left, Gone, and Back

by Christopher Lee Miles

When I left I saw trumpets spouting urine,
the foam of piss, note-bubbles
rising to froth in a salty stench.

When gone I was gray, the hoary fur
of a wolf just dead
in a field of snow.

Now back, razors, cracks
of rifles, moist chipboard swelling, leather
notches worn wide on the strap
I found at the dump.

At the dump the guard took my ticket.
His hat said Veteran,
as if someone understood
what left, gone,
and back means.