MY FATHER KNOWS

My father knows when great men 

were born, and when they wrote

the works that brought them fame.

When empires fell, and why

our history books fail

us, time and again.

He teaches me how to listen 

for the silences, the in-between states,

the graceful exits of saints.

Two birds fly past me

and out of sight. My father knows

when the birds come, and when the rain.

Watch for the thread, he says, 

and I see it. I feel it strain, trying to maintain 

our broken wings, our feathered remains.

We are tied together, my father and I

and you, echoing souls, gathering close

and closer by the day.