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08/24/08 - (1)
A Visit to the Cemetery Although it's eighty-six degrees, On this serene Sunday afternoon in late August, The silent breeze riffling the tightly bowered trees Protecting this cemetery, your grave, from the sun's rays, Makes the elegiac air feel considerably cooler.
The fifty-foot oak, hovering above your shadowed resting place, Seems to be watching over your sleeping essence, Lending to it a sense of perpetual gentleness, Keeping you abiding company, Until your wife lies down beside you, once again.
And here I am, after quite an extended hiatus. Why I've stayed away, prolonged the absence, I can't say. Surely, my heart has an answer, If only it'll disclose it to the breeze, the oak tree, to me. All I know is that, lately, I've been missing you, Dad,
Wanting to tell you so, face to face — The face of you I've immortalized, anyway, From the mosaic of memories you bequeathed me — Hoping I might bind us, in timeless oneness, As if this visit were another stepping stone to our future.
08/24/08 - (1)
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