Father grew new eyes
As he sat by the window
That opened into nothingness
With his hands hanging limply
Off the side of fading leather.

His only movement
Was a blink
When the dying sun
Broke through the open glass
And brightened broken pieces.

I rested my hand
Against his empty arm
And begged him to speak
So that I could hear his bursting voice
That resonated through the air.

Father burned his new eyes
As he stood by the window
That stretched above nothingness
With his hands fiercely clutching
The side of ripped fabric.

His only word
Was a shout
When the newborn sun
Forced him through the open glass
And created broken pieces.

I forced his bleeding arm
Against my empty hand
And screamed for him to move
So that I could feel his weak breath
That no longer hung in the air.