The Telephone Sleeps

death deepens with months the passing sands by swath-sweep the telephone sleeps except for sibling-mourners moaning for vocals from mom dad shovels himself out of his quiet mattress aching with absence half-alive, not dead the one left behind dirgelike rings of cell mom won’t answer, but dad will stir the stomach biles, tighten the chest, dry the throat. sadness listing old man’s boat 6/27/2021