The poem about the son struck me
Also the one about the father
Did you not also write
Such relationship poems
Words of knowing, of not knowing
Of curious closeness, of disappointing distance
Did you write out of longing
Or longing for closure
It makes no sense, that I know
Yet the dense matter does matter
As a matter of fact, on some days
It is all that seems to matter
Words for quite unbridgeable words
Except for the clapper bridges in my mind
Words for no purpose of purpose
Except for the purpose of lifting away my working time
My now time; my dawn times, my dusk times
The lifting away is what the poet gave me
A lift in the spirits, a lift for the sensibilities
A whole layer of lifts, into your other world
