It is not true that every son
and father come to this
the rough bass of your voice
singing the endless tune
I’m sorry I’m sorry
two words you have not spoken
your ninety years till now

Each time they seem to end
or begin some long tale told
in a tongue neither of us speaks
and in this room just you and I
to hear those two small words
drift down and settle in your hands
where they have fallen on the sheets
opened in defeat or peace

I take one hand in two of mine
and though it never was
say It’s all right It’s all right
and of course at last it is