Acres of sadness, the width of a breath

Here in the middle

of November

night comes to the skies

early throwing it's shade

into the river, like a voice

in disguise I remember,

it's hard to walk a straight line

I've had thoughts

about a black dog

dying at the foot of my bed,

about cornerstones

I've found in the dark

with my bare feet

Forties of death

and no bearing,

acres of sadness,

the width of a breath

I've dreamed a lot

about my father

and the smell of his cigarettes

glowing like a lamp

in the window before me.