When a child
says the word
father,
he cannot distinguish
its beginning
from its end –
Father, will
you carry me?
Father, will you sing to me?
He doesn’t know
father is only
another word for
tomorrow –
Tomorrow gives
only to the child.
Tomorrow cannot be seen.
He doesn’t know
father is just
another word for
forgetting –
the anonymous
flower
of wild honey,
the weathered
bough
of tender fruit,
the air
heavy
with mist,
the over-grown
fields
horses graze.
And for me,
to say that word,
is to hear me ask
forgiveness in
every corner
of the wind
my body
one day will inhabit,
the tender grasses
I have tread.
It is to hear –
I have forgotten how to sing.
It means
that every fruit
becomes an act
of prayer,
and every flower
whispers a name.
It is to hear –
Will you carry me?