THE TAKEN

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I stand in this winter cemetery 
the ground as frozen as the
full metal sky
watching
the Field of The Taken
who were
planted in the precision of unpicked cotton
When the trumpet sounds
as it does each night
in the arms of midnight
The Taken  
who lost their lives
in the battle of
The U.S.S. Pandemic
will rise from their sleep
still dressed in their life jackets 
of masks and gowns
And in the eerie tranquility 
of a just unplugged machine
they will walk solemnly
in single file
towards the boats
bound for glory
as the captain reads
their names from the manifest:
Mom and Dad
Son and Daughter
Grandpa and Grandma
Sister and brother
Uncle and Aunt
Niece and nephew
Once safely aboard
fortified by cups of hot cocoa
and blankets of dreams
they will begin their final ascent
catapulted by billowing sails
And then 
using the constellations as their guide
like ancient mariners
they will suddenly stand tall
doff their caps
drape them over their hearts
and take in the air
which they can once again savor
And then
they will belt out 
a rollicking sea shanty
about faith
and hope
and being lost at sea






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