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Personal Note:

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Poem

What may I salvage of your life?
Ten years this loop of frazzled tape
has traced my mind, replaying memory
and asking "what if" questions
of the avant garde...
as if they were the music
in a stubborn theatre,
fly gallery of shadows racing  through,
longing to make sense of it.
What did I miss--
the something more I seek?   

Let me venture down the roads again
Let me call to you,  my son.
I want to tune awareness, listen
to the meadows all along the side,
watch the forest trees for shadows 
moving in between.
I know I will not miss your voice
persistent in my ear,
"I'm here,  Dad."       

How may I  recreate it now?
How may it so invade reality
that I may probe the depth of being 
and of love?  I think it is
because transcendent power
is greater than my own.
Here it is that I may savor
that which I knew,  taste again
refreshment born of tears
and sense its vibrant intimacy.
Here is where the cover floats away
and where, exposed,  I let you in.
 
Of course I am aware
in memory you sleep forever
underneath your granite stone
but in the close reality of consciousness
you are a post-millenial prodigal,
for this my son was dead and is alive
again...was lost to me
amid the screams of grief, 
and now is found.
               ~

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