my father, dying

the light is changing.   

because he did not have much to give, 

he thought, my father tried hard 

not to take. he knew the price of

things. it was his pride. it took his life

from us in those last days he lay there

and elsewhere going back and forth between

the porous walls of the worlds his scattered memory

let slip   what he wanted   what he

had lost   and didn’t know till then   

there was nothing we could offer

but let slip the leash on his life

and let him range free like the dogs

he cherished