My father lies dying
High in the green mountains.
He, mute, eloquent, irresistible,
Calls to us.
We approach the aleph of his exit
empty handed.
He, the spider friend, brings hemlock boughs
To burn at the temple of his beloved.
His spent form ignites a fire storm
In memory. We may bury or cremate his body…
But he shall never rest…
A druid prince dancing at midnight on the forest floor…
He stamps his feet and claps his hands…
He sings the meaning of the ocean’s roar….
Yes! Yes! We shall let him go…
But in truth, Can we ever let him rest?
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
1 comment:
Post a Comment