Can I go?

Mother may I

step away from the parade?

Lay my head down

on heather fields,

soft

with the newness of Spring.

Maybe I will walk

between the beach

and the waves.

The surf will give me form,

where I had long ago

given up my own.

Can I get a moment’s grace?

Just five,

or ten more days?

That’s all I need,

then I’ll be steam;

yeah,

I’ll evaporate.

Wherever the wind blows

is where I’ll go.

Yeah,

someday.

Today,

I’m off to find

which failure I’m to face,

and fight a war again.

 

HG – 2019