my father reached out.
spoke to me in the instant
before death,
lost inside the earth cores deepest
sleep. held inside the silent
mountain, i held his
hand. sing out. life is all
reaching, if you’re doing.
falling, failing,
getting up. living in the
joy & inside the saddest river.
life is present, being.
inside life’s pain
we stretch to live, all trying,
lost within the dying & the ends.
mute swans sing out
in their dying moments.
a story told in days, reaching
into tomorrow, carried on
from otherworlds,
upon the backs of birds who travel
in between the song of sound. the song the
living cannot hear unless we dream.
birds speak & understand the minds of man.
we have travelled together,
watching inside darkened
centuries of history in
muted communication,shaping time,as
shifting sound. listen. the dreaming
understand the song of death,
the journey into the screaming universe.
the shifting shore where our first words
were song,
held within the blink of
night hawk eye. swans sing inside
their joy to die, they
call out to the darkness that sings to
them. i heard my father
in his dying breath. his song of loss, speaking forgiveness, a song
of pain. the messenger walks
between the sound of worlds, he
whispers, listen. know in recognition,
the going home, the roaring dawn ahead. the end is the voice of understanding.
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