You didn’t want to go to the sea, the base 
      nearby, its simple name, north- 
something or something once exact, crackling 
      lately only as 
lack-of-effort, short-of-funding, post-ascendant— 
      nothing wishes fixity with  
been-there-done-that— 
      you should know. 
You didn’t want to go. But you ate lunch 
      generously with those you took 
not behind the deserted commissary, its 
      sparse flowers, inchoate sun, 
or with your backs up to the barracks but  
      beyond the parade-ground where  
the ocean drives it slag through tidal flats 
      where, you advised 
there’s vantage 
      but where too you asked 
in your voice that did not dare anything 
      if you flew from this place 
if you descended to the water could you get back 
      could you manage 
and then you were the first and it surprised 
      you, that anyone would follow 
for what you had wanted to say did not 
      inhabit others, you 
who would have been there and done this 
      who would be back shortly 
who would go to the dead and love them.