SISYPHUS BY AREMU ADAMS

fullness begins


when every moment has left us


& both the owner & the house resume


old conversations


in touch with growth & process






there is something


about the fullness of a glass


that overflows its content.


it is the same with silence


full & foundering in grief.






in the silent but eloquent glance,


my aged father dies, slowly


like the second that rambles


up to us, stretches us full apart.






though taciturn,


my foreboding is profound.


on this path against blossoming


time flattens the tender reed.






i wish only for a belated sunrise


for my father who identifies


now as clumsy care.


i wish only for a journey


where purpose pleads on his behalf,




say his fate is like a brick wall,


only that this brick wall can feel,


can hurt, can sorrow & die.






a window filled with winds & walls


is as my father is — an algorithm


to the progress that cremates him.


i process unpleasant thoughts




i sweat, purge & inhale disregard;


in it, i am lit by cringed shadows


consoled only by how he thinks too


certain of himself, to be half-lived


too full & military, to be foundered






when old-age talks about fullness


it only means to talk about absences.


or, is this not how the wind breathes?






my heels burn, the texture of my tears


unknown. my songs grow reddened.


full songs on a full, barren night,






i wish to write this poem before


death comes to kiss my smiles goodbye.