Father I want to be
Father I want to be a weeping willow
No son, you will be an axe
Father I want to be a seahorse
No son, you will be a great white
Father I want to be the purple rose Mother was
No. You already have enough thorns
Father I want to be a constellation asleep
on dark water
No son, you must be a fisherman
of the stars and the sand that slipped
through my fist