My child, my child
I am sorry but
I can only sit with you
and weep.
I cannot make you someone
you are not.
I cannot peel away the pain
that clings to you
like hot jelly
or water your dry lungs
that flap and clatter
in death's dry wind.You are stronger than you think: stronger
than any of my wonders in you promised,
stronger than all the seeds
I ever pressed into the earth
or any hurricane
that ever whispered in a prophet's dream.Oh, my son, my boy
ragged with a loneliness
that even my winters never know----laboring
(how that word details my grief) laboring
you lift yourself to breathe
and so must rub your back raw, ripped open,
winking with wounds----that back
you never showed me
now a screaming peacock fresco.I cannot watch the end of you.
I must turn away; but no
no please do not say that I have left.
My eyes are upon another world.
© Copyright Tom Baker 2019- 2008