Message to Beaufort Valley

I’m coming home
In my last squeezebox—
Drawn out.
Wrapped in a quiet song, beneath
A simple garland of China rose.
Meet with me at the marshalling yard
Before they place me on rusted rails to
Liuksrevies—
Where we collected scars.
Joel, brother,
Before you lay me a bed of kites, and
Summon winds of our boyhood;
Before you fly me toward the sun till
I burn to stellar dust, do remember:
I love you.