Dad

man with chainsaw sought
for primal scene

a beer drowning, gut sweat
great strides show

he is a voice at first
far as time's extremity
aside of where I'll be
- a cure

his winter's wood
to frame those blows
to catch at chimney walls come light

and nails blacked deftly scratch
the hairs in which air noses
the presence of no one over this paddock

that is a knowledge rendered me
one step inside you'll always stand
knowing this arcane resolve

skies open on
it does no good

o gather close you mute attenders
hear my paradoxes, pleas

and soon the dark folds
fortune brings
fat the road behind
to whistling
itself

o father forgive
the shed throws this spirit

it's then the kookas sing

old keys and the form dry
type is worked home