I find God on the back steps
smoking a cigarette in the howling wind,
imagine the size of waves
on Lake Superior in a storm like this.
I pray for safety,
homecoming to the wayward autumn sailors
notice the push of disaster in a flailing leaf.
Up in that sky clouds mask
what I might otherwise see --
full October moon,
green northern lights,
a memory of my father, whole again.
I say Daddy, this is my letter to you
written in smoke
delivered on this wind
sealed with my teary fears
signed with regret for all the letters
I never wrote when you could read them.
When I turn to the interior
I finally hear your voice
and it says remember
only the sound of your son
this morning as you drove toward the Lake
when he smiled and said with awe
"It's the lake, mommy, it's purple"
Like a waterfall in slow motion, Part One
2 years ago
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