To My Father In His Time of Repair

Though we may look upon you as ghosts looking into ghosts
mirrors gazing into mirrors

the abyss, crawling out and staring back inside itself 

to wonder at the leagues beyond your see

and the meridians of your maritime adventure,

we are neither seeking what is lost

nor what to gain when

We are watching at life

and how it moves

like zoo keepers

at a grand terrain

building ant hills

just beyond the horizon

where the elephants do graze.

Watching at life and how it moves
like bee keepers
reading stories in the swarms,
shaman reading palm prints in the seashells,
sipping honey next to sea and storm.

When you went away
and came back again
like the tide turning back upon itself
after seven days of slumber,

you became more wondrous to me
than Apparition,

a hero from legions unknown
who returned to us again
filled with light
and magic,

and your new favorite word was:  good.

Daddy, you couldn't keep me from the wonder,
you couldn't keep me from wandering,
you couldn't allow the world to be anything
less than Endless,
when I looked upon you and searched
for the meaning of bedtime,
the meaning of Monday,
for the meaning of struggle,
and for the meaning of prayer.

To tend to the present moment with you

is this gift

whose wrapping papers

are endless

in their ripping.

Ice falls on green meadow carpets.

Winds speak in howling tongues at night.

The water laps in drones over a pool of water
like the daylight that glows like embers in your eyes
in this kingdom we call Home.

Father in the time of your repair
may you breath the second chance at life

that couldn't be taken had it never been given.

Song