FATHER

  As I walk back the familiar road,

turning the tree-coated bend,

and in the darkening July

night see the lights in the window,

it's still hard not to believe

that you are sitting there,

preparing to go to bed,

to read a bit before falling asleep,

with your dog waiting

the moment to go under the bed.

Yet you are both dead,

there are only a pair of old cats

in the kitchen light

I myself left on,

and the weeds grow tall

in the yard.

10.07.2021

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