Your anger and fear and
intolerance for being
human are written all over
my face. You swim beyond
the shoal through these tears
I can’t swallow without choking
on backwash salt. Reverse osmosis
and viewshed moments happen.

We’re living proof
death and the end don’t travel
along the same rail corridor.
I hear your voice, Dad,
propel the breeze to slip through
an open train car window.