Father is dying.

I count the growing spaces between his breaths,

and weigh the quivering beats of his heart.

Yet,

Father is growing young again;

I see sparks in his eyes

like diamonds on the lake,

and I hear ancient joy in his voice

— thunder over tidal waves.

And,

I wait:

Ere his leave, will he look upon his only son

and finally speak his full, true name?