Let Him Rest
in the surrender of spring to breathless
summer in the glottal stops
only a field can summon in the possibility
of syntax in a tense
of laughter against the folds
of a wing against the heaven
of arms against the drone
of my imagination or any
pastoral of despite despite
what money made
of His body despite what became
of His uncle’s gun despite
the felled mechanics of
iron despite sound the shape of it
He left behind despite the فرمية & amarkan
& every back sung ييييييييييي
that failed to kill Him first
may He rest in that I need not
be held like I needed
to be held in my collapse
of lungs & midnight floods infant
I was in that drowning & after
surviving when the rumble
of my shoulder against a bus window
becomes the safety of a chest
I once could not sleep without
let it become my final wish before
it becomes a whisper
at His deathbed let Him rest
let Him forgive me
I won’t keep Him
much longer rest now
do not let His throat close
into a lightless moon as it did
in life if our breaths converged once
what now will become of our apneas’
entanglement? I ask the machine breathing
into my throat each night holding me
like a father I can only see in the borders
of daylight He rises & I rise
with Him He’s resting now He’s resting
in that rising forgive me I’ll let myself
sleep now every night
He rises & I wait He rises &
I am waiting ya Baba
I am waiting
for the fall
