my sisters tell me that our dad
(all 83 years of him)
is on some sort of tarmac, ready
ready for departure
his hospice bed the cradle
morphine for loving arms
that caress the old man
and whisper "there, there"
he was a boy once
who ran along the shore
who laughed liked a god
and came upon a rise in the dunes
i think somewhere in the blades of grass
there are gaps where light breaks in
a forgotten voice whispers in the reeds
and then the river takes you away
tonight my father is getting in the boat perhaps
some small, manageable vessel
and on the beach he sees his wife
and his children
and maybe family long gone
tonight he may go down that river
tonight he may roll along
tonight, or another
love will carry him away
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