Silence reason and there, within
A fruit of consciousness and reflection,
Pushes like a force against the walls of the mind,
Like the beauty of a cloudless morn,
On another plane,
When you were young, paddling
A warcraft canoe with your dad – captain,
On Frog Lake in the failing light,
Toward your amphibious haven.
And oh the sound! Of fiberglass on sandy shore.
Of kindling crackling and flame warming.
And oh the smell! Of steak and onion and pine-needle carpets.
Of supping and talking and laughing and thinking.
And the sight…the sight,
Of two people on a log, and a dog
In the bush on a bed of moss.
Tired. Cold. Afraid.
Lying there you listen
To his breath, its rhythm.
As an anchor in the storm of your mind,
Sitting still in the afternoon sun,
This fruit of consciousness and reflection,
Pushes like a force into my mind,
And I relive the feeling in perfect detail, of a time
I have this image as in a dream:
A wrinkled man with parchment skin, my father
Weeping he forms pools, floats away.
“Captain!” I cry…”Come back!”
As our eyes meet across the infinite sea of tears, joy
Like music composed with the deepest meaning, I awake
To the sound of distant voices singing – and little feet running –