My father sleeps with an atlas,
Each night a vacation
To the Seattle opera
Where melody becomes his religion
Changing prayers of light
To soft, tenor cadences.
His bones thirst for Wagner
Ring Of The Nibelungen
Rattling the keyholes of a dream—
Lost in the splintered teeth
Of Montana mountains
He hears a symphony of light
Knitting the road ahead.
7 Comments
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