Father/ I feel your shadow attached to my feet/ but I am no lost boy/ and you don’t have the strength to be mischievous./ Father, I don’t want to forget/ but my memories are clouded by your crooked walk/ I don’t remember what you sounded like/ maybe that’s for the best./ Better than trembling wherever I smell cigarette smoke, smell hyacinths./ Better than mourning a shadow, praying for a ghost./ I remember your eyes, pale blue/ and maybe that’s enough./ Eventually, lost boys grow up/ and shadows stretch longer than they are able./ Father, I know you cling to me/ only because I let you/ the aged stump in a forest that the other trees can’t help but feed.
