My fathers eyes,
Those deep arctic pools,
Are brimming with
Childhood ghosts.
His graying lashes do nothing
to fend them off.
They swim through
radio waves,
tucked in the sweep
of Debussy's dreams.
They dive from films
in the trill of
rapid gunfire.
An infant cries and
Cannonball!
Water washes over
And leaks
Down aqueducts
Of wrinkled grooves.
When our eyes meet
the phantoms shade his gaze.
He sees not me,
but every child
hes known and held
who grew up
and fit no longer
in his arms.















Comments
--
"We all need love. Love brings us joy and well-being. It is as natural as the air."
~Thich Nhat Hanh
--
"We all need love. Love brings us joy and well-being. It is as natural as the air."
~Thich Nhat Hanh
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