Day breaks down

to ambient firelight,

and laughter in harmony,

crackling, under Aquadrome nights.

Memories are tender

of firesmoke and canvas,

lightweights and camos –

the uniform of our blood.

The morning you left,

we all broke down.

No one can fill the tracks you left.

There was a convoy to Heaven,

and the starts flickered red, blurry,

blinking, in tailgate lights.

We miss you dearly, Uncle Paul.

And in your memory,

we’ll rally every time.