My father was a man with big light-blue eyes
who loved people good wine fishing black
cigarettes and took joy in the good fortune of others

Many a time I saw his big light-blue eyes lifted
upwards because he said that when a star falls a
man dies

His only public act was to have a pebble
pathway built and over it passed generations of
workers walking towards the factory where he
left behind his youth and his bones

When he died his arms were sweating and
aching from having held up the sky every day