Sun surges through the pane
of the living room window, bearing
down on the white hair threaded
with black, a brow with fewer
lines in sleep. My father’s head
tilts back, his nose pointing upward,
jaw slowly dropping with the weight
of the elapsing hour. His liquid body
seems to seep into the sofa, ear leaning
into a propped-up hand where the cuff
rides down his wrist. Spectacles rest,
settled on the sill of his cheeks. Behind
the lens, closed eyes glimpse some place
warm and golden as his dreams travel,
circling to a far gone past. Against
his neck nestles the tortoise-shell kitten
he didn’t really want—a seamless fit
with nose on paws, tail tucked in tight.
