PORTRAIT OF MY FATHER AS A DEAD FISH

)you're floating in wrong directions, again dad(I don't have
a hand for yours to grab)your eye
is so dry in its stare, pike(I once had a mouth for you
[now it's going dry like your sight](the plate is soaring
under you toward, a rumor of light)I once had all to myself
a corner, of a field square as suns are round(th
is is the terrible end of all our dreams)th
is is a milky way with a black hole in the middle
hurling us around(this is a dad on beer)