It isn’t even the past

I
I watch my little boy
playing happily in the light,
my wife beside him,
kicking back the football
with a laugh.
Both of them alive,
a puzzle I am here to decipher
a reward for I don’t know what.

I feel my cloud of ghosts
twine and settle on my mood,
I turn away and then
you gather across the trench,
naked from the roads,
all in your sad grey faces,
naked backs bruised
by the injustices of eternity.
Here, step forward, one by one,
and drink deeply of my now.

My eyes turn inward
and I remember.

II
First there is
your little, wasted corpse,
poor mother,
beloved adversary.
Then you, little brother,
made a young man forever,
slumped against iron,
enclosed in soot, thighs scorched,
a dried trickle of blood
from one nostril
rune or hieroglyph.
Next was you, father,
and after all the pain we’d shared
I missed the last of your gentle eyes
and the quiet accusation
of their long farewell.

III
I tremble and take
on my guilt. How
is it right? How
is it fair that I,
the most selfish of men,
should have such happiness?
after all the unhappiness that I brought
How is it just
that I should have this perfect family
none of you will ever meet?

IV
Meditations In Time of Time

I show Lin and Davey
photos of you
but seeing nothing
they turn away.
My memories are all
that keep you from oblivion,
from never having been.
I blow at the embers
of your lives.

I write about a time machine,
pilot an unfinished novel
back through our history,
fracture our past
into thousands of futures
where versions of you can live,
and we can all find happiness.

Remorse and regret drive me
to read widely on the subject of time.
to build a block universe,
and hold out for forgiveness.

Time’s arrow outpaces
your memory. You are erased
in that dolphin torn,
gong tormented sea.

I need some resolution
but nothing comes
only darkness of mind.
The ball rolls toward my feet
and I look up
then kick it
back to Davey.