The Father-Son Continuum
In all that is the father
there is the longing for death in the birth of the son:
a dying man on a frightened horse.
My father on his manstalk
burned like a scarecrow just before the snow falls
when the snow falls in only one field.
When it proved useless, he put his mind for sale.
Though the moon paid in amnesia,
he traded it to the lower dark for a way out.
He built a stairwell with his bare feet,
and with his nailed-together hands he built a clock
the way nothing is built to last.
At the oak tree where he buried his father’s ashes,
his prayer with a rake in his hands
was the pile of dead leaves at his feet.
In all that is the son
there is the longing for life in the death of the father:
a frightened man on a dying horse.
— Ryan Dowling
Appendix Poetry 
Read it three times. I admire your poetry. There is something in your voice. It leaves me wishing for something. Can’t put a name to it.
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Oh, I don’t think my voice is anything special, but thank you!
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It has a distinct sound and rich imagery. There is the love of nature in it. And that special ‘something’ I mentioned above. I love it, really.
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Thanks Basilike, always nice to hear from you.
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Same here.
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Wow, Ryan. Hope you’re publishing this one. It’s fine work.
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Haven’t found a place for it yet, but thanks for the encouragement! Perhaps I will keep looking.
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killer write.
i just had a son this past week and this piece speaks.
well penned.
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Thanks, Zaroff. And congratulations on your son!
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