The surf rolls over
their impress still the
sand at Halona Cove
does not erase
Lancaster and Kerr
embracing here
forever consumed
by hunger they cannot sate.
Sinatra looks for trouble
and finds it finds it in spades
keeps finding it.
Clift still loves the Army
which doesn’t love him
still plays
a beautiful bugle
with exquisite lips
those fine and
fragile features
that perfect face.
(This was before the accident, which never happens.)
Nothing works out
from here
to eternity.
Still
reveille declares some
distant dawn, again declares,
and fades.
Taps, it sounds,
and sounds,
forever.
Meditatio Ephemera 