The eyes carry
a story.
I should dive inside
that liquid center
comb the wreckage
for what I know
but have no memory
of seeing.
Drown, just enough
so God can show me-
the moment
before he left-
his small apartment, Los Angeles,
his baby girl.
Maybe he paused
to take one last look-
at the shimmery ceiling, the dull heat,
her delicate face
and whispered in her ear
a tender goodbye.
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