Again to the end

Wash the boys up on beaches of flowers,
let them sink into the feeling of true brethren

Cheeks of hot cinder; eyes with masked desire—
no more fighting now, no more fighting

Each deserves a petal for luck,
a petal for courage,
and a petal for Anton

Who did not come home.

But it’s not that simple

Stay here, the butterfly said,
and are you sitting comfortably?
but you, you didn't ask a thing.

As I wandered through Wednesday feelings
unabashed by the bruises.
The ones we all carry.

We laugh and we laugh
for all our efforts to mend come undone
in a single evening shimmer of light.

Father's gone again, the tumors growing
and all the world's ablaze.

Illustrated and published by the Oxford University Poetry Society