my father’s death is a secret
hidden in his bones for sixty years
but it now day by day reveals itself
there are signs
whether or not I choose
to read them when it comes
it will be no surprise but entirely
unexpected a hurt so deep
it reminds me of what I must forget
in order to wake up
there are steps I thought
I understood impermanence
but my father’s bones like scrolls
unroll themselves
and set me a test:
what will you do
when you no longer have
someone to call you precious?
sometimes he says
we all need
to be set back to zero