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Father. Vacant dullness sweeps through you,
infinite unoccupied tracts
of lightless space stretched between galaxies,
throbbing with dark matter and
ravaged by radiation and quarks,
silent and great, echoed vastly within.
Father, a word, just sound, fathoming from the abyss:
simple air, dead.
Father dead, died of cancer,
corruption of cells,
multiplying, swallowing like a supernova swallowing
its solar system, its earth-like planets,
its rocks and debris, swallowing its orbit
and extinguishing itself into darkness,
once more.
Father, a shadow
where once, no doubt,
light erupted with his smile,
his hands holding you, swaddling
in love and throwing a ball,
splashing sea water, walking beside him,
examining and scolding and laughing
and being, and being. |
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