There was one death--
a loud determining death--
that etched itself into my consciousness
so flagrantly
some years ago
that now, every time something dies,
it's just the loud determining death happening again,
only this time, I am different: older & more reflexive,
yet somehow incapable,
amidst all my psychoanalytic verbosity,
to separate my father from all the others.
Fall cracks itself wide open
by allowing things to die.
I want to be like that.
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