Metaphysics

This is the last goodbye, the final salute. From beneath the cover of a flag the ensign is assisted down the chute so neither flank nor limb can catch a snag. Then at last his sunken eyes see light, and he sets foot into the promised land. Effulgent plankton there redeems his sight, Elysium of bright seaweed and sand. How glorious his underwater grave, even though above, the stone-faced captain sees a guilty spectre in each wave, and dejection overwhelms the chaplain. And the crew? They’re busy swatting flies, the smoke from guns still burning in their eyes.