I was told you were killed near Kandahar
while I skied at Lake Louise.
A roadside bomb awaited you
as I cruised among glades and trees.
Your body parts, they gathered and lay
in a coffin sealed so tight.
They brought you home in the cargo hold
beneath our flag of red and white.
Remember those times (not long ago)
we skied together at Lake Louise?
The same old mountains gathered ’round
to watch us do as we pleased.
Your tour of duty became Kandahar;
mine continued at Lake Louise.
How can there be on the very same Earth
two places such as these?
On my final descent from Top of the World
regret will accompany me
and two young men will disappear
among the ghostly trees.
from Poet on a Cargo Plane