In your eyes I see a paradigm shift.
Days that grew into years – arid soil
for budding stems – a backward
blossom from futility: coarse entrails,
crows feet, edges sallow from hard
stares, rapt with a fire that once
safeguarded suns. You weep without
tears, beckon without words, cough
dirt from black lungs — measures of a
man whose pride befell brawn, whose
calloused hands roughened with each
shake, whose embrace anchored arks
and buoyed feet with unfettered grace.
In your eyes I see myself, wild with
desire, lost in reverie, akin to flames
that flicker yet never fade. You lie still,
your body hollow beneath heaves, your
soul like driftwood ashore, a fractured
shelter gleaning headlong into light.
(For my grandpa, who has recently passed on.)