Laying awake at ungodly hours,
I've often stared into a ceiling that I reflexively believed to be present.

But, whenever I did find myself at leisure from sweating and sleeping,
it was always too dark to make sure that the roof was still there. And this invoked a primal fear within me.

If you need to ask why I felt afraid, you've never been a father.

A father closer to the grave than any of the naive goals he'd set for himself as a child.
A father who had traded his breath and blood for bread and a burrow.
*This uncertain roof, often made me ask, "Has it been worth it?"