Autumn dreams begin:
My father plays Sibelius on a grand piano.
“I’m in the underworld,” he says,
“We got it all wrong.”
Behind him are the vast windows of Hades
Which admit light favored by the dead—
All the light inside our bruises…
Autumn dreams begin:
My father plays Sibelius on a grand piano.
“I’m in the underworld,” he says,
“We got it all wrong.”
Behind him are the vast windows of Hades
Which admit light favored by the dead—
All the light inside our bruises…