“Maybe They Will Know” – My Father

Born again in the thralls of an upkept sun,
the soft yolk of nuclear life, so standard
and bursting with chaotic seems.  I swept
my eyes around and saw only old men, with
questions only left for the future, and younger
suns with arms to carry the gaping openess,
the old questions elders had left behind.  A
cycle of ferrere, to bear to carry, to owe and
to be indebted, shoulders of giants, my elder
muses with open mouths and eyes stripped
of shields, Turner’s refugus, they sigh- “Why?”


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