One last thing?
If you could just tow me ashore..
give me something
to grab onto
other than an undertow
or a year or two gone by
to over-examine after you've left.

I can drink the air 
out of the bubbles in your wake
if you wish.
Whatever suits you
on this day,
is what I'll do
as always.

And if you want to 
let this thing bleed out
slowly and eventually
until it's colorless and still-

You've got it.

I must admit:
I am unwilling to give
even a hint of consideration
to the thought of being anything,
anyone other than that brilliant,
briefly lit comet,
hurtling toward home.

It matters not
where I land,
or who takes pictures from the ground.

This is only a trip.
This is just a ride.
So fleeting, so fiery,
that you wouldn't want to pause to wonder
what you look like up there,
or else you might miss
the very things that make
your fires unforgettable
and your blast burn true.