Soldier

You, my friend, who died in battle,
       can’t remember
How your breath became a rattle,
      then, more slender,

Changed to prayer. What syllables
      were left to say,
What could be brought to mind, what bales
      of fragrant hay

Uplifted from your father’s field?
      But you were done
With gathering; another yield
        had just begun.

—Jared Carter

Image by Wellcome Images licensed via Creative Commons. Image cropped.