Wars we've worn

those wars we've worn
the claw marks lovers
wear on their backs
the pain of seemingly
crowded atoms in
space minuscule in
the echoing hollows of space

but what is shared or
fought over more often
is the fleeting wink of
a cat sitting at the window
a collision between
raindrops and pavement
a moment that adulterates
in pools of maimed memories

and the winks and
collisions and moments
are too numerous even
for those fingers that
sit and count infinite
and still we wear our
wars for grains of sand
which can never be held
in any one hand