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[yaksha2]

My son jumped off the rock
into the lake, receding.
Impact of the rising sun
Shimmer on the skin of waves

The night before was a dream
of my father, dead for the first time.
The wisps of terrible narrative
on the steam of my morning coffee.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You know, I really hate it when I tell people my major, especially old friends I haven't

Comments

[shesnoemu]

Ok, I'm going to assume that you have not written this with an ironic sentiment (or, at least, not completely) and I'm going to try to persuade you to rethink what you've written