For your father, I forgive you, his spiders
made your webs. On a cloudy day, head bent
back, black boughs obscure the sky, a tangled
trap; how you weep when they hold you.
Water never was enough, I forgive you still
for swimming in the drink or deeper through
the veins. Yes, his arms were large enough
to save you but they never reached you.
This is not a eulogy for your father or your
helplessness; every secret too is beautiful
and cursed. Some see light where light has never
set a foot or shadow in the brightest world.
How do I know I can forgive you; can you
hear me, these few well-chosen words? Within
my heart a space as wilde as mountains, there
among the rocks and flowers is a saddened boy
burying his father.