When a Father is Dying

and he asks you
to sleep beside him,
you do it.

Even if the ghost of his body—
thinner now, bones rising
through his skin
like unearthed stone

—frightens you.

Even if he no longer
smells like your father.
Even if his chest stutters
moths to red clouds.

Lie down behind him.

He’s made room already,
before you even had
the chance to say no.