Today's poem is by David Giannini

Aubade and Regression
       

Fey light, a pen, its ink into the thin
paper half in white / half shadowed on

this desk with my father's hinged lid

sometimes lifted for him to score
music even when his wits slipped—outside:

thick gray light, blackish, breaking

morning decades beyond his death, and I
want to reach through and higher, to be

shot with sunlight—I write to annoy fog,

I scribble as if my father is beside me
years and years ago, scoring whole-notes,

white holes through rims of night.

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Copyright © 2024 David Giannini All rights reserved
from Already Long Ago
Dos Madres Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission