He is there, somewhere . . . high up over the pass We must travel in air thinner than spirit, Bloodless, structure of cold fog. His rifle Gleams. He waits as we cross the ridge. Son, you will see him Sometimes: at the foot of the bed, grieving, A wavering presence in your fever-dream. Or seeming to grieve. Wearing the mask of your father. Used with the permission of Copper Canyon Press, P.O. Box 271, Port Townsend, WA 98368-0271, www.cc.press.org | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ON A PROPOSED TRIP SOUTH by WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS CONTEMPLATIONS by ANNE BRADSTREET WORK WITHOUT HOPE by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE AFTER AUGHRIM by ARTHUR GERALD GEOGHEGAN BREAK OF DAY IN THE TRENCHES by ISAAC ROSENBERG |