On the 11th hour of the 11-
Th day of the 11th month, a ghost of
Horror rose from his grave. He climbed out of the crust,
The mud, the dust—littered with gray blades of grass
And dead, decaying leaves. His uniform was
Stained and frayed; the tarnished metals at his chest
No longer glinted. He traveled south and east
To the city of the pale building, its face
Lifted to the midday hour. The appar-
Ition approached his commander—his chief—and
Stabbed his animosity into a back.
