final psalm in the book of rusted chrome

 

         

in the crush of

early morning fog

in this country of

missing fathers i am

waiting for myself

 

the dead have

all been born as

birdsong here and the

god of starving dogs

paces my street with a

young girl's blood

staining his

smile

 

i let the curtain

fall back quietly

 

let the light

of the poem flicker

and gutter out

but always a half-beat

too late

 

the house is on fire

without warning

 

the baby is awake and

screaming

and all the doors are

locked from the

other side

 

this is the story i

remember

you telling

 

the final psalm in the

book of rusted chrome

and i never asked

to sing it

 

never asked to

have it sung

to me

 

there is still

so much silence i

am hoping to hear