No more.

No more.

No more,
fathers.

No more,
smoke.

No more
boys
who
return.

No more
houses
on
fire.

No more
poetry.

I wanted

to catch
the smoke

before
it escaped

through
the window.

I thought

it wanted

the sky.

Help me.

Help me 

find

my song.

My arms

were too small

for windows.

Too small

for clouds.

Too small

for father.

No more.

I remember

the bars

first.

Then

light.

Then

smoke.

Everything else

came

later.

To catch

the smoke

past

the bars

of the little bed.

To catch

what looked

like

clouds

forming.

To believe

clouds

entered

through

windows.

To stretch

an arm

too small

for distance.

To think

the smoke

belonged

to my father

before memory

knew

the word

absence.

No more.

Can doves

be doves

still?

Hold me

like

a bird.

Broken

burning

body.

He loves you

but could

never

love you.

The window

was left

open.

Return.

No more.

What

the willing

boy

wouldn't

do,

I'll do.

You are

a chained

ghost

waiting

in the corner

of the darkest room.

No more.

How

can I

love you

better?

What

have I

been

missing?

Hold
my hand.

Don't
let go.

Let me
be held.

Let me
stand.

Let me
be proud.

What

haven't I

accepted

about you?

No more.

No more,
father.

No more,
smoke

in the broken
wooden home.

No more,
boy.

No more,
prayer.
No.
More.
Then why

am I

still

writing?

And speaking?

No.

More.

I wanted

to catch

the smoke.