***
Dad, I talked so little to you I regret
that I talked so little to mom too
chiefly for a few years now ‒
they were so busy as the beavers
that build a dam they weren’t really
in their element. You left home
at a young age. And now you’d like
to cover them with goods and goodies
to bring them coronets of flowers
dear as they are to you you’d like
to give them a present, to give them
a gift, to give them a present covering
them with all those, not like the dead
but like a furrow wherein the sun
would be cosseted. You should eat.
Nonetheless I say to myself
you don’t suffer, we live fools’ life
or rather we are some fools who live.
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