I forgive life on behalf of my uncle.

 

In a story yet to be told, a strange

Air sweeps into the desert-dry

Throat of the earth, my uncle

Would not yet love, too blind

To see the world in its ugliness.

My uncle would not yet love,

Too halo to be left alone, too

Heavy to birth a strong memory.

My uncle is in another world,

Pursuing the endlessness of

Time, before the wind started,

Something fell and didn’t roll

Back to us, something fell and broke,

In our pursuit for its new glory,

We left the earth flat, we let it

Rot, in the end, if you look down,

There’s nothing more to see than

The six-feet holiness of life.

In the end, the light would also want

To stick to its darkness.