Terra Tilt-A-Whirl - For My Father

a dream as years go by, water clock drip ticks, another revolution, minutes flown away, hearts fluttered wide, sepia childhood silhouetted, a grip lost in snap-the-whip, and glimpsing restless spirits, crowding heaven’s gate, gold plated, iron bound, others just waiting, familiar indistinct, while clouds like knotted cotton, frame a high blue portico above, a formless basilica, slow vision of his spirit, becomes a shining arrow knock’d, loosed at that far off shore, flown true, and gone, as the wind cries a pure tone, on that played out jazz piano, coda to another’s life, like a tragic symphony, somehow filled with hope, his last music… (I miss it so).