three rounds each, a gong for the lesser gods. attention, please, there will be grief now, from the loss of my love. this loss and those losses that came before and the loss we propose when we begin

again. listen to the precision of my pain, you keepers and providers of my life, give end to the texture of a straining i can no longer carry.

i've tried the breast pocket, the valise, the pallet loader and now it is time to put it down - into the sea; into the great home; gods, take it back.

as far as i see along the terrible sites of these guns, i will need this pain again. take it now, that i may find it among the circling rains, along the broad side of the wind. my love leaving has given me more than i have ever had. my heart, unbroken, goes to sea. attention, please, gods - there will now be unending grief, the endless loss of my love.