vagabonds wait for time to fade,
then blame it on the western world:
"i know this is so much to ask,
it's just that these things happen too fast."
i'm sure your father knows this,
as he fathers
his apotheosis of,
"where do we find our own?
all i've ever known was home.
and when the wind just picks up,
i'm left in your wake."
"now, son, you've crossed the sea,
sailed beyond our history
and my stoic eyes."
for what do i owe the sun
for my son or my brother?
my sister or my mother,
who i left behind.
sail away from you;
sail away from view.
(so clean your hands of me
or decide my worth
but cut the tendon first
to prove what i will always mean to you
though i know not the name
that you chose for me
i'd like to think it was vast and radiant,
like all the waves
in your hair that i only saw
in old pictures
i never found
in attics lost to dust and fate
did he carve my face
in all his righteous deeds and worries
did he lie awake
and did he fake sleep
like a child or like a warrior?)
