Deathbed Wish

training himself
to be a demigod because father
had left raggedly the
drawing breath so mortally
tragic it hissed and sputtered to
a wettened candle end

he decided to stare directly into the sun and be
like Newton who had enough God in him
to be immortally Science and Light and
Gravity. how the thread
of moon is really the earth claiming possession
and not abating its oceans or
the upward strain between
two mountains

and father
would have been proud if the
prodigal son
raised his arms to embrace an antonym "father,
father, we let you die
in sudden white like
a flash of bird or winter glass sun"


gods are falling like columns of the same sudden white and he
is not a hero he tells the stars no "I am not a hero" to be a hero
would heat underneath the sails a wind he could not maintain
and a ship he did not
steer the prow halving the wind over taller
spires or monolithic buildings that held hurt curses or
tanks of pure oxygen

and father
would have fallen asleep
among the
fields of ambrosia or tall mountains
if the
caustic son was not something of a nuance
to tinge even a brush of immortality

a demigod
is better
than being
published or
handing father's
eyes to a child out on the winter sidewalk