Poem Beside Your Hospital Bed.
Your face,
that I loved,
has changed so completely
that I already know
our time is gone.
And as dying
like a sandstorm
rearranges your features,
I am useless;
a cripple of words.
So if the winds in your head
will carry the smallest breath
of what I am saying, father:
let it be that
my proud years are tatters here;
I love you.
