The writing has left
it rests far away
when it was close
it was closer but not as close
as far when far away
There is still life yes
a baby still new
a father still sick
a master unhere
I watch these life things gather height
the in held breath of avalanche snow
and dragon green of hurricane sea
I tend the wait
so the baby may speak
the father stand
the master glow
I try at times to name the wait
but it is too clear
like a good death
So I wait with the writing
of my son’s first word
my father’s straight back
my master’s raised hand
for the life things
to come close
and tell me their name
Written 2013