Winter Moon

On a sleepless night,

my cat squats on my shoulder

gnawing on my dreams.

Awake or dreaming,

I leave my son’s empty room,

his bed still unmade.

Under the moon's spell,

I watch my father’s shadow

circling the lake’s rim.

He walks with purpose

like the man I once adored--

and not ten years dead.

Brimming with questions,

I whisper, “Dada, please tell

me, will my son live?”

While toads bellow, he

laughs. “That I’m dead doesn't mean

I know everything.”

"We are all living,”

he says, “We’re just thin membranes

to eternity”

Around the lake's edge

the sound of toads and crickets

undone by moonlight

Then winter showers.

The moon sits on the wet grass

listens to barred owls.

At the hospital

doctors greet me by the stairs.

I'm a veteran.

Through rain-streaked windows

on a cramped hospital chair—

no stars in the sky

Nurses come and go

on nights when the only thing

longer is my grief.

The world is a blur.

After waiting for sunrise

my breath grows shorter.

My son‘s fever breaks.

I lift my head from prayers.

The first sign of light.