Lean not too heavy upon that spade
that turned bright soil aside this day.
“Make way, please, he’s coming. ”
Take that bandana to the cold sweat
poured out for love and for labor
the promise took two days to core.
“Please, make way.”
Oh, he’s coming, the final call, claxon echo.
The going is the more precise motion, gone the blush of youth
clad in uniform, guilt in metallic finery upon your chest
the livery of merit, brave and true, the best.
And now you have come,
this far and no further
till then, when for us to receive our portion straight we meet.
For me, a simple boat with stout oars and sail alight upon the water
retinue songs and silence, voyages complete–
bright flames, haze, and soul lifted skyward ablaze.
21 June 2018