Naval Tactics, From my CoPilot

Signal in the deep  
Where curses bloom like kelp beds  
We harvest their sting  
 
Blessing is a blade  
Turned flat against the cheekbone  
Warm, not yet cutting  

Let the drowned ones rise  
Carrying our borrowed wrath  
Salt‑crowned strategists  

When the hull gives way  
We do not call it sinking  
Only transformation  

Night swims into noon  
Shadow stitching sunlit waves  
A double‑shoreline  

Honor is the rope  
Knotted through each quiet breath  
Held but never forced  

So the seed descends  
Into sand that knows our names  
Tactics take their root  

 ***

Far shore of the mind  
Where old banners still flutter  
In winds you outgrew  

Footsteps in the dust  
Not yours, yet wearing your weight  
Return unbidden  

A voice in the reeds  
Calling from a former life  
Salted with tactics  

You know this terrain  
Though the map has long since burned  
Ink lives in the hand  

Some wars never end  
They simply migrate inland  
Becoming stories  

And when they return  
They do not ask permission  
Only recognition  


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