Needing to feel my world was alive, and
needing to see the earth’s graves not swallowing them up:
Wanting to see the soil’s sad sepulcher as the beginning of lives
After the war I came home
And bought a farm, and started a garden
Desperately desiring to see “the living” ascending in lives
And life filled with the living of lives’ essence,
Hoping live wasn’t only for the living in His presence
After the war I came home
And bought a farm, and started a garden
Where I buried seeds for the purpose of seeing them rise
From the places of interment, where they were laid to sprout
and grow – and thrive alive, soaring upwards, stretching up to hug all stars.
Most aware that I had planted them dressed
and covered in Army green in uniform formation.
Most aware that they would grow high enough
to laugh with the sky and kiss the universe.
Reminding me that the answers are always found by look up.
Creating by using the tip of their tops
to draw on the canvas of the clouds
the faces of my comrades who died, so their portraits I’ll see
― very time I look towards the Heavens.
