Silent Street

My father passed a few years back, and he keeps appearing in my dreams, always on the same street and roughly the same dialogue. The poem/story has no real format. Just my feelings on it. Thanks! Silent Street On streets where past and present collide, holograms ride delta waves You sidle up, gate light and easy, mid conversation I Parse the rhetoric for glimmers of acceptance But again benign, drivel muddles the way The one sided blather on photography labors uncontested Your catalogue, a thorough exhibition of you Fitting. Buried emotions etched in celluloid Reveling in silent shame, feeling a camaraderie of sorts Time is short, so silent I stay Ears hinged for signs of accountability A modicum of responsibility And so I wait... The pipe store beckons, it's almost time Fading into the night he says We'll meet up later I know we will. So Maybe, next time. Till then, in silent space, I standalone. Apologies unrendered.