The wave breaks And I'm carried into it. This is hell, I know, Yet my father laughs, Chest-deep, proving I'm wrong. We're safely rooted, Rocked on his toes. Nothing irked him more Than asking, "What is there Beyond death?" His theory once was That love greets you, And the loveless Don't know what to say.
From The Rote Walker, published by Carnegie-Mellon University Press, 1981. Copyright © 1981 by Mark Jarman. All rights reserved. Used with permission.