one
gun salute stuns you with
its noise,
the cannons
on the hill beside innumerable
gravestones.
it's
finality with gun shots
and taps
being played by a lone
soldier
in the shade.
the somber faces of young
men folding
precisely
the flag.
old soldiers
and sailors are buried here,
a president.
each war
has the dead under long
stretches
of grass
and headstones
shining brightly
against the sun, and now
here he is,
your father.
his ship at last in port
forever more.
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