How is it I draw near to you
as I approach this common ground,
yours above and mine beneath
connecting our mortality yet still
symbolic of the separation that took place
as I laid you there apart from everyday.
I know you hover there with me,
our mutuality in tribute to the Adam dust
that formed us, carries us along
to ride the winds
across the fields and towns forever
while these minutes here
when I look down, resist,
and in our tryst pause to allow
'I love you's' here and now
to bridge the days beyond
when I must turn away.
The visits carry vanity as well.
I choose them to assuage
my feelings of neglect; it never works.
The stone, defiant, strong
in its assault upon my eyes
betrays the irony its vigil promises.
Its song of death alone
is all I hear behind my upraised heel.
But it is not the ash, the dust, the winds,
the stone of taciturn reproach I keep
upon my heart as I drive off.
It is your voice I hear again,
"Dad, I'll always be here, loving you."
You knew I needed that.