Let Him Rest

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

Source: Poetry (February 2023)