prophesy of the days I hope never come

On a hot day in miami
unnumbered as hot days in miami are,
my father will die
and though the air will be hellish-hot
his body will not
it will rot
a bit before some poor soul
finds him in his chair
eyes closed
in the repose reserved for saints.
Two, maybe three, days later
i will sit with friends and kin
somewhere deemed holy enough for him

cast our benedictions on the carcass
that was my dad and plunge him
like a dagger into the heart of the world

Then,
on every cold day, unnumbered
as all days after his passing will be cold,
i will cry
because I am less than I was
when he would hold my hand.