The fifteen hundredth American soldier has died
In an ancient land.
I don’t know his name, nor can I imagine his face,
Surprised or perhaps contorted, as he fell like an anchor
Through the sea.
.
Like all of us, he had dreams.
One is seized by the penetrating beauty of flowers,
By their arrangement in a crystal vase, and cannot help
Sinking to the sad earth, sobbing and bleeding.
When the flowers, too, have faded and fallen,
The empty container will remain solid and solitary,
Still reflecting light, but lifeless and achingly alone.
