The wisp of breath from his heavy lungs

Warms my wet face.

I kiss the place near his temple which

I own from years of good-byes.

Ignoring my silent screams, time rushes toward

The crossroads without urgency.

I have known this moment for years, yet now,

It is a cruel stranger that stays against my will.

It is I who must go.

It is I who must turn to greet the morn

While night stays upon my father’s face.

Then suddenly, I am him and he is me.

I fold my arms around his failing

Spirit and lift him to myself.

We share one last glance and he is mine.

I fight the tide that surrounds me

And turn from his lifeless form.

And there before me, without a hint of chance,

Is the road, showered in light and a voice

From my soul saying, “Let’s go.”