Rise early from a dream:

pummelling an antic German

who disrupted rehearsal

for a musical film.Straddling his chest,choking him, revile him as a Nazi. He ages

beneath my fingers which will not

grip and hurt as I wish.He loses hair, vigor, color. Shifting

shape beneath me like pudding in a sock.

Bowing, offerring incense at my altar.A card with my father's name above

his photo marks the day--

Somber suit, beloved Harvard tie,

ghost of crimson in a world of black and white.

He accepts my gratitude,

Apologies, with compressed lips,

hooded eyes.

Sorrow rises between us like a mist.

Dead 31 years

I still don’t know

what he wantedfrom me or his life.

The past is fog. My errors and faults

boulders in the path

shouldering the mist aside

marking a dim, further pass to cross.

Dreaming, waking, I bow

to the dark rocks; beg forgiveness

offer Buddha my rage.