My father has work to do,
needs to play his cards face up, not
block in case there’s a king to move
into this or that open space. The cards
of his last days, in descending order. Unless
God pops up from the foundation pile, you
can expect only the continuous snap, see
him shuffle from recliner to the immediate
safety of bathroom. There is no gain
in his decision to let go of his heart. It’s a shitty deal.
We may never know what is hidden in one
tableau or another, a gem or a regret. At
best we learn to expose the cards we cannot see, a
joker of preparation, the illusion of a suit that tricks time.
A Bref Double a la Echo (sans rhyme) this morning. The end words of each line read: Do not move cards unless you see immediate gain. Deal one at a time.