Sonnets from Brazilian Portuguese: M-16

When the sky is bluest, I often think

of the summer I nearly lost my soul

but for a stranger who braved death and stole

me from midday crossfire. Pulled from the brink

of action, I sink against barroom sink.

We crouch in darkness, hearts beating and whole

no M16 hole bleeding out, we dole

out dark humor in empty space: no drink

or drinkers dare slake thirst while guns are near.

I cannot recall when we went away

from that place, if I left on my own. Here

is where memory fails, nothing is there,

did I even say thank you? Yesterday

I smelled beer and heat, remembered that dear

stranger whose name I never learned to say.