December 15
A Poem on the Death of my Father
That mountain that always rose, solid And immutable, iced with snow At the edge of my horizon is now Gone. I look up, and its absence is a hole, A fault in the seam of my life. Father, born of dissatisfactions And dreams, heart full of wilderness, I hope you’re at peace, One with the wild sky, Borne by the current you’d always Hoped to dive into. You’re there now, wherever That place is. I imagine it scented With cress and clematis, shining Like the eye of some high alpine lake, As lovely and lonesome as the last light Touching the backcountry peaks With one last brush of warmth Before the eternal solitude.



A fitting tribute of love and loss. May your heart find comfort and solace in sharing this with us. ❤️
I am so sorry.