Father

When you died
I was washing my hair
I paused
Rinsed it again
Finally
The dead-standing tree
Fallen
Leafless as stone
Hollow as an O
Finished
With the wind's howl
Famished
By the dust
By the sun
Dry as paper
A child
Running toward you
Saw
A trunk
Branches for climbing
Toward others
Hiding places, lookouts
Jumped
Into emptiness

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