For my Father

 

In dreams my father is with me.

He lives in his nightmare wide awake.

 

In dreams my legs buckle.

He falls in his nightmare.

 

I see him, we cannot speak,

his frail hands outstretched to his child.

 

His hanging mouth a cave

with all his life inside, forgotten.

 

Asleep in his bed like amber in linen,

withered by time and ages rot.

 

So we meet between worlds,

to stare at each other in timeless fear.