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
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.