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).
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