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.