Little Prince of the Skies

(Horst Rippert, a German fighter, had just learned that one of his 28 kills in wartime was his favourite author.)

Strange how he arrived at the truth
before settling on the meaning
that sent him deep into the night
along a sandy beach 
with gusts of wind, sand and stars.

At a young age he had read the man

between hasty landings and take-offs.
Has his final voice now risen out of the waters
up to him the prince of the skies?

He had to prepare to the true meaning
invisible to the eyes
to understand what lay at the bottom of the sea.
Had he not to shoot down 28 of those allied planes
to only now learn of his super kill?

And here he is, 64 years later, wanting to know
more about cause and effect hitting the heart
while the ghostly creator still trembles
seaweed-entangled, clam-encrusted.

He walks back slowly, feels the heat
and the buzz of the old Kameraden
in the putrid sweat of loneliness.
His old legs threaten to give up
the closer he gets to the wreckage

of his fighter plane.