There is a quiet in the house this morning. As if life itself were sleeping.
In a far away country, on a grainy video
The man in the white shirt is running
Waving and running
As if he can see the future
But cannot stop it
Father is a hologram.
He isn’t real.
He passes down the hallway, looking neither left nor right.
We stand beside him.
Stark shadows cast by an unseen sun.