In the fragile hands of my little girl
who knows not the agony of my years
nor realizes the joy she provides
the balance her innocence brings
she holds a picture
framed in red oak
figures in black and white
posing beneath a gray tree
which no longer provides shade
on a hill no longer there
she talks to them in almost silent whispers
those who were gone before knowing her first breath
those I miss so desperately
she sets the picture back in it's place
and for a moment looks achingly sad
'tell me about them Daddy'
she says

Neon slash
carved
on the winter sky
your distant warmth
permeates

illuminate
the wild
blackened reaches
of the unwritten
night

embrace
the gravity
of mass
greater than
self

when we remember
what the times have been
that made us into what
    and who
    we are today
we travel deep into our past
to hear our mother’s voice
our father’s not so friendly gripes
when we fouled up a task he gave to  us

our friends, our teachers, our loves
whose interactions shaped
who we eventually have become  
while we believe that we have always been
     so independent and  autonomous

it may be worth a moment to reflect
     upon the influences
     we are inclined to casually neglect
and recognize the fact
     that we are always part
     of that great whole
     which we so desperately try
     to disavow for individuality

only to recognize a few years later
the minimal common denominator

life is a wonderful excursion into space and time
always surprising, turning on a dime,
leaving us puzzled well unto the end
always intent to look beyond
the next bend of the river …….