Let the untold suffering
settle the incompleteness of truth.
You have to move out?
making space.

The empty chair fills in
at dark. I talk to my father,
daily about the remains of life
and falling debris.

A son does not want to
know the futurity. A dazed poet
will write the history of ruins
which was younger than memory.

A resilience still brings me
face to face with the gods of dead souls.