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86 LEWIS TURCO The Obsession Last night I dreamed my father died again, A decade and a year after he dreamed Of death himself, pitched forward into night. His world of waking flickered out and died— An image on a screen. He is the father Now of fitful dreams that last and last. I dreamed again my father died at last. He stood before me in his flesh again. I greeted him. I said, “How are you, father?” But he looked frailer than last time I’d dreamed We were together, older than when he’d died— I saw upon his face the look of night. I dreamed my father died again last night. He stood before a mirror. He looked his last Into the glass and kissed it. He saw he’d died. I put my arms about him once again To help support him as he fell. I dreamed I held the final heartburst of my father. I died again last night: I dreamed my father Kissed himself in glass, kissed me goodnight In doing so. But what was it I dreamed In fact? An injury that seems to last Without abatement, opening again And yet again in dream? Who was it died Again last night? I dreamed my father died, But it was not he—it was not my father, Only an image flickering again Upon the screen of dream out of the night. How long can this cold image of him last? Whose is it, his or mine? Who dreams he dreamed? My father died. Again last night I dreamed I felt his struggling heart still as he died Beneath my failing hands. And when at last He weighed me down, then I laid down my father, Covered him with silence and with night. I could not bear it should he come again— I died again last night, my father dreamed. ...

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