Come Forth

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. ~