A barge constructed
of date palm,
heat
and worry
of time
on the Nile,
flat on her back
dreaming of crows,
shooting stars
and the Louvre,
Jane pens
a letter
to her father
at home
in his bed,
he is
dying.
She smiles
knowing
there at the end
he’s fulfilled
from his living,
how he rivered ongoing
meandering,
dancing
alone
and with friends
on beaches
of sand,
whirling round
spinning through life
like an American
Zorba,
yes, Jane knows
in her bones
he’s no longer
striving
as she basks
on the barge,
her dad is dying,
breathing the sky,
this pyramid
gleaming beyond,
how here
at the end,
he’s happy….
