I know that I died
in the very instant
that my father, gasping,
robbed of his life,
vanished in a shatter
of stained glass
and bloody white pickets.
I would like to believe
that I fell into you,
that in your arms
I swayed until
you committed me
to this lonely bed.
I dreamed that you
wept over me
until night faded
into the dawn.
But I woke
to your prayer
of parting too late:
My eyes fluttered once.
You were gone.