There in the battlefield his hands kept rhythm for a heart that wasn’t his thud thud palms bruised into prayer forcing time back into torn flesh that wanted out *how long will you keep going* they asked through smoke and screaming steel *till I’ve no arms left* he said counting with his teeth one two stay blood made the ground slick made the beat harder made mercy expensive and when I have no hands to keep his rhythm— then I’ll jump let my chest take the count let my weight replace my palms because even stripped of hands a body can still press life so..Ill jump.