Stern sentinel
at death’s frontier,
encamped on the
edge of eternity,
garrisoned in night,

each evening
I am challenged
at your boundary, but,
password-mute,
I gain no access
to your hidden territory.

Rather, I am escorted
into another realm.

My thoughts are commandeered,
becoming mercenary wraiths
on dream-scaped battlefields
whose wages,
struck by reason’s coinage,
redeem realty
at the end of each campaign.

Susan Dean Wessells