Lamentations in the quiet

In the quiet

like fathers

who leave home 

and forget their daughters' ages

and birthdays, how

can they remember?

in bars

with tears

inebriated, they swear to fix it all

but really, how

can they bear the guilt?

I too

forgot your are, or at least how long

I knew you

I looked for sage advice

on the matter

but there is none 

to be found For a while

I tried

tired to be myself

being a little more passionate...

What will befall us when

we have proved we can end

         up parked drunk 

         beneath an overpass, at last the hail falling harder than

         we want to get home

         and larger than any father's

unanswered question?

where is your presence in this world in the quiet

because when I forget, you disappear

maybe you do

early morning lamenting the dawn

listen, dears,

who dream life out

a new morning

for each

of your anxieties

warm sheets a carved pillow--

cuddled, comfort

generally leers

at us

from the other side of

the bed we were never comfortable in

sleeping on shards

of the sun-

bleached apocalypse tomorrow

morning

          an echo of each former day

          sleeps with us:

we too have seen affliction

we grew accustomed to the darkness

our eyes have not adjusted to the light