Some days,
my son,
I think I'm getting

to see some kind
of horizon
without you,

but then it all
comes crashing down
and the scene's

the same,
the big hole
where you were,

the horizon
still out of reach
to any real sense,  

and you,
you the one
who was always there,

no longer,
least not
in this sphere,

not here.
I still talk to you
of course,

knowing you're around,
invisible to me,
but shaking your head

if I put on
a rock CD,
thinking the old guy

still has it,
despite the aching limbs.
I know you're around,
my son, but some days,
the light and life dims.