THE FIRST VISIT

 

   Kneeling at my father’s grave

A patch of granite in a field of green

I pressed my face against the sun-seared stone

As tears passed through the gate that bridges souls

 

 I spoke his name

    With many loving words

   Aching for his presence

                                                            And to touch his hand again

 

In that expanded moment 

I became of flood of grief

And there we stayed ‘til parting

In a strange and beautiful relief

 

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