in the surrender of spring to breathless
summer in the glottal stops

only a field can summon in the possibility
of syntax in a tense

of laughter against the folds
of a wing against the heaven

of arms against the drone
of my imagination or any

pastoral of despite despite
what money made

of His body despite what became
of His uncle’s gun despite

the felled mechanics of
iron despite sound the shape of it

He left behind despite the فرمية & amarkan
& every back sung ييييييييييي

that failed to kill Him first
may He rest in that I need not

be held like I needed
to be held in my collapse

of lungs & midnight floods infant
I was in that drowning & after

surviving when the rumble
of my shoulder against a bus window

becomes the safety of a chest
I once could not sleep without

let it become my final wish before
it becomes a whisper

at His deathbed let Him rest
let Him forgive me

I won’t keep Him
much longer rest now

do not let His throat close
into a lightless moon as it did

in life if our breaths converged once
what now will become of our apneas’

entanglement? I ask the machine breathing
into my throat each night holding me

like a father I can only see in the borders
of daylight He rises & I rise

with Him He’s resting now He’s resting
in that rising forgive me I’ll let myself

sleep now every night
He rises & I wait He rises &

I am waiting ya Baba

I am waiting

for the fall

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