“Shoot!” your father cries.
For as long as you have known him,
that is what he would say.
a forced gluttony, is an act of humanity
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We know our punishment.
We are each other’s ruin.
We open in grandmother's bedroom—
a man I do not know or recognize.
I’ve been working undercover
for years now,
only Intuition and Conscience knew.
Like the alchemists of old searching
for the secret of turning base metal to gold
and the source of the fountain of youth,
![[he was not an easy man/my father], by Ivan de Monbrison](https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/59aef3bacd39c38dabcb0dc2/1742351323092-0HP3VV83HD497AX6L0LC/20241228_100908.jpg)
The nighthawk sings for us, that bird of corrosion and dust,
but don’t be afraid, autumn’s only an angel that brings the
darkworld of winter blooming white as infamous
asphodels.