But Not Out

I want to go home, but not in a box. I’ve seen my father ride in one and his father before him and the women who loved them, all carried like babies in a cradle to their final resting place. Not me. I want to go there. Know I will inevitably, but not so calm, so still, so all used up. I’ll sail there naked and dive off the bow into waters cold, clear and deep and swim to shore like a man in a woman and there and only then you can put me in a box. ƒ

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