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My father brings water to his mouth,

stubborn as gritty clay jars.

He is tired and in another life

he and mother were comrades
in a revolution against their own parents,
proving to the world that love bears all things
including, one day, death.

He doesn't want to bear it.

He lets fibs flutter out of his mouth,
through his lips - butterflies of love
escaping into a world that takes
life just as quickly as it is granted.

Even after death has split
mom and dad in half, he will continue
to love as promised.

Freckles of light splinter his cheeks.
Light imposes itself through the wide open door.
Father rises from his chair, walks over,
squints, shuts the door unapologetically.

There in the shadow of the still,
his eyes burn with tears.
His gentle hiccup sobs are known only
to the shadow respecting this time.