To be nothing but fire
not even the fuel that feeds it
wasn’t my father’s style.
When the time came for him to die
(of a cirrhotic liver
caused by poisoned blood
flushed through him one winter dawn
to fight a bleeding ulcer)
he found a stone wall
with, at its base, a tunnel
just too narrow to admit
a man. Undaunted he crawled through
hand over hand
to the other side.
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