You are him from Maine,
him, from Montana,
and every him from sea
to sea and back.
Stewart, Kelly, York;
you are all of those
who shrimped on boats,
flew planes.
Studied, wrote,
collected,
kissed.
The brave ones spill
across your face;
an indelible trace
of young sons

who played baseball,
cards, guitars.
Thompson, Sanchez, Vance;
you know their favorite dish,
their first romance.
On silent nights, do they tell you
of boyhoods and Beatles,
bruised knees and hearts.
Birthdays missed . . .
those who shrimped on boats,
flew planes,
studied, wrote,
collected,
kissed.