He Sings of Hawks

He sings about hawks searching for water, in times where water was a mixture with soil. In times where water lay alone in the dark waiting to be discovered by the aching muscle of thirst.
He talks about how much lighter his body felt after the amputation and talks about how yesterday is as different as someone else’s life. He pulls the teeth of a comb through a thicket of steel and his features wrinkle into a smile whenever you speak.
His son loves the image of fruit trees with fruit hanging heavily from their branches. You love the idea of their elegant strength together. The alpha posturing of hard shells, the beauty of still wolves, when violence is static and nothing needs to happen yet.

I’ll spend eternity trying to find my father.

He says he was born into a rotten egg of a country, which finally cracked, allowing the exchange of darkness for light.
My Grandfather is a man made of walls the crumble but don’t fall.
He meets your gaze in a daze of rivalry.
And there is love lodged between his teeth.
My Grandfather lost his leg in a strange war.
The lost of limb made him feel lighter.
The loss of everything else will be a weight till the end…