On Fathers and Great Storms

I was given the name of my father.
Sometimes, I can hear that same name spoken on days like this.
When everything white glares and your eyes feel shaken, dizzy.
When everything white is frantic in its stillness, and you breathe it in
And you breathe it in again and your hands never stop sweating and
everything feels loose to the touch and you feel as if anything in your grip
would become moist and soft. You feel frantic and you feel dizzy.

I was given the name of my father.
And father thy name resonates off everything that's white.
But soon the sun will fall. It will fall and Moon will rise somberly in its victory
and it will play great tricks on the world. I've seen it pour upon the world a great tide that throws men here and there and I've seen the moon paint a great storm above the rooftops and green street lights and sometimes I watch this great storm pass and the clouds look like crashing whitecaps, immense and grey.
And sometimes I can taste the salt on my lips and I wipe it off with my hands, still moist.

I was given the name of my father.
And I will awake with the name of my father.
I will awake after saying goodnight to that small man who swings his feet from the moon and I will awake and my hands will have become dry, wrinkled and I'll smell the sweat from the day previous. I will breathe it in
And I will breathe it in again and the sun will fall upon the world like a blood orange
spilling juices between the teeth of every man who was hungry and I'll say it:
I was given the name of my father and I was given the name of my father.