We climbed upon my father's back
when we
were young,
my
brother and I,
joined
in mutual joy.
He was a world
with
which we wrestled
secure
in his indestructibility,
but as we grew
his
stature did not shrink,
diminish with age,
and
simplify by comparison with ours
but
grew more strange.
Our ascent became an ordeal,
the
paths that laid our way to him
overgrown
and bifurcating,
ending
at last
in
a tangle of paranoia
and, once, the old man we met as adults
explained
himself
at
the end: "I am happy,
for if you hated me,
it made you love your brother more"
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