MY FATHER CALLED TO SAY GOOD-BYE

[Earth has made its rotation back to day.

Ladybugs stumble on blades of grass;
clay pots are kicked and smashed;

yellow flowers peer up
at a cloudless sky
as my Father calls to say good-bye]



"Tell him he's home.
He does not believe he's home."

Banished to holding up the sky,
He has conceded

to the elements of his mortality.

Now chained,
like Samson to the pillars,

"Bring them down,
my Lord,"

"Bring them down upon you."

Peering from his walled cage
he sees the green, green hills
beyond the captivity of his mind.

"Let me go, Lord."

He calls.

He crouches.

He remembers.

And with one, last, final surge

leaps into oblivion.