The influence of gaslight or electric light on the growth of paraheliotropic trees

In my dream last night, I was in an attic–mine?–with my father, and we were going through things, picking up things, and looking at them, and talking, I think, and then, I looked at him, and went to him, and hugged him, hugged him so tight, and said, “I’m sorry, I’m trying to carry this–”

And then I woke, and remembered he was dead, dead now for fourteen months–and sad again, and grateful, to have seen him, to have held him, one more time–and I think, how lucky I am, that in these dreams, these dreams I have of him, I always remember to go to him, to hold him–

And I’ve been thinking lately about how after he died, my mother moved, my brother moved, I moved–all of us are in different places, but, like him, we are all not where we were–

I think about him, and how, if he were a ghost, would he be able to find us?

I know where he is, where his body lies, in a field, thirty miles to the north and east of where I sit, typing these words.

I love you, old man. I love you.

by Judah Abrabanel

Time with his pointed shafts has hit my heart
and split my guts, laid open my entrails,
landed me a blow that will not heal
knocked me down, left me in lasting pain…
He did not stop at whirling me around,
exiling me while yet my days were green
sending me stumbling, drunk, to roam the world…
He scattered everyone I care for northward,
eastward, or to the west, so that
I have no rest from constant thinking, planning—
and never a moment’s peace, for all my plans.