Martin Underwood
Forget-me-not
In the Western Desert there is a grave.
It must still be there.
[Things desiccate - not rot - in desert air.]
The wooden cross we made
may be wind-blasted, or buried deep -
but dry as any pharaoh underneath
still lies my enemy.
As a mosquito moves towards her shadow
he moved towards his end in my focused eye.
Since then I’ve lived in time I took from him.
The choice was not my own -
but that’s history.
Somewhere we buried him as best we could, -
commended his soul to God, in English,
burnt one word of his own into the wood,
(chosen by Captain Benedict.)
It’s meaning I’ve forgotten now:
Vergissmeinicht.
Page(s) 46
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