To my sons

I fear I did not give

enough attention, time,

and, when I look death in the face,

will my dreamed-of God forgive

a working father’s crime

not far beyond our last embrace?

For Emily Dickinson

I will not tally letters up

- or dots, apostrophes,

or add the words typed on a sheet

of prancing poetry.

Instead, I want to simply take

a feeling of the whole

enwrapped in music, rhythms – breaks -

and resonate a soul.