You sit by the pond in the night and watch your father
Crossing the dark grass, blinking through the trees
Toward you, the moon balanced in his hands
As he ruffles through the night only for you
How long have I been waiting, you ask aloud
May be forever, answers the night. It must be the moonlight
Turning your fingers into white stone, changing the games of youth
Into the colour of faded cotton, blowing them into shreds.
Your father is still crossing over the grass, a glimmer of light
In a world soaked in the screaming darkness of withered dreams
As the wind begins to shuffle, holding in its hands
The fragrance of flowers that have died long ago.
As he reaches for you, he smiles, only to turn back
As if to go, to bend over to pick up the shears
Where he left off trimming the ivy; I will wait for you right here,
But your arms flail, weighted in stones too heavy to lift.
You sit in a chair in a empty room, the moonlight
Cradled on your lap like an unwritten sheet of music
That the world has forgotten to play. Do you watch out for me
Do you miss me like I do? The only answer is from the wind
As it ruffles the sheets that you cling to. You turn to what you know
That the world is not your home. And the moon is not balanced
In the hands of a man crossing the dark grass only for you
Or to make you smile. We don’t just abandon the dead. We burn them.