God in the World
Late afternoon, sleepy sky, the grief a click in the jaw,
a tremor along my eyelid.
I’ll take my father back now. Everlasting love,
my hope and my fear.
As he lay dying, his gaze fixed.
All he wanted was nothing we had to give.
Minutes earlier, I had been doing some silly calculation
of my own happiness.
Then, alone with body,
as with a piece of furniture, the cold oak that once lived.
Poetry makes a public record, for someone’s sake.
I was dumb, before and after.
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