Night past. Mid-morning in Afghanistan

already hot. Airborne, home the coffins turn

in dust you died and unto dust thou dost return 

Too soon, before  your children knew the man

The ceremonies, tears, the reveille

The leader’s rhetoric, clapper of a broken bell

The solemn tones, and thread-bare trappings cannot tell

Why death should come so very far away

You have no allies there, no family, friends

No common bonds, no story intertwined

A god-forsaken  place - as  any you can find

Why such a desert place to meet your end?

Between the why and what too great the leap

No spark can jump, no shred of sense to speak.