“The father of new things”
-Paulo Leminski
Father of dirt in your new white gown,
you’re senseless of your fall and even these words.
Existential now, protohistoric, you live in the vestige.
The father of occasion is father as realm.
At liberty in no mirror, your province is vast.
Having lived is natural enough. All flesh weeps.
Time’s last indiscretion will not be retracted.
Even the wind complains, ungainly and apparent.
Resident of earth, come from your remnants to the eighteenth site.
Father of logic and speed and bone,
here’s a heap of sticks you’ll need to interpret.
You’re altogether underwordly.
Come with breath and your last note.
Come with pleasure on your mouth and tongue.
Father of plans and meticulous acts,
there is no likeness in idiom and earth.
From Winter (Mirror), 2002