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