THE PRODIGAL SON

My little drunken father, speak the words

Again that burned your sons. I will

Listen now with burnished ears and eyes

Golden with experience. Your love

Is moving now your touch is gone.

How far and such a road I traveled (sigh).

I come back almost too late to find you dead.

My feet! My feet, how many steps

On the jewels of the world and clean

Yet. My hands? You ask to see my hands?

You know, as well as I, they were not used.

But I have turned and turned and, coming home,

Have you at a distance in my arms.