Michael Milligan Honestly I Hardly Think of Him at All

Michael Milligan _____________________________________

Honestly I Hardly Think of Him at All

What I thought might come / of this I can’t recall.

I rarely dreamt of safety / and never forgot how the wax

melts when I fly too high, / the sky there uncluttered by restraint.

I am torched. / I am metal I melt I am molten.

How blue my father’s eyes burned, / like a welder’s acetylene flame,

the 6,000° surface / of the sun. I wished him to sleep

on blue glass the color of his eyes / and wake suddenly afire.

None of that matters yet still / l fall through the atmosphere.

Still come down here. / Every time.