Listen!
MY SON my son never born has shaved his head mourning that I never was he is in a room without doors or windows I have not seen him in a long time each of us is thinking of what we have spared the other tests of will struggle over inheritance bad news delivered in the kitchen at midnight I wash myself with his hands they cover my face eager agile blind it does not matter what history stings the eyes it matters that I have your hands at last on my lips wash me unborn back to the dark rooms I played ghost in take my face into your pockets of need bury me away from you as ever