my father is having to leave the house br with delicacy, easing the dead bolt open br in the dark. The house exhales him. br I'm thinking of a driving lay-up, of a girl br in homeroom, blue necklace, brown skin. br Transistor radio on my pillow, volume low. br I know some things, not enough. My eyes br are closed, I'm listening hard, that song br again, Knock down the old gray wall, br my father standing beside his car—gone, br key in his hand, snowflakes in his hair. br At dawn, an Indian head test pattern will stare br from the TV, the freezer will churn out br its automatic ice. On the windowsill br an iris in a vase will have taken br the last water into its cut stem. I will br notice it, how it is there, and had br stood there the whole time, that flower.