I wanted to scream
at the top of my lungs
and tell you that if you're ever
looking for me
you know where to find me
and i'll always be here
waiting
but at this point i knew
i was just yelling
with lungs filled with water
and you would never hear me
but i will always be here
waiting

Blurry finds a place to close her eyes.
Head swells up with a demons lies.
Drowsy stops when the evil dies.
Body loosens up and begins its rise.

Watching over the charade below
Rich in empathy and sorrow.
Just to be struck by the realisation
That she is me
And I am lost.

Dad,
Can it be that you are gone now,
Five years' comings and goings,
Five solar journeys now, around the sun?

I can still see your shape,
Thin and worn,
Overalls, too big,
Cap pulled down,
Pliers hanging at your side,
Lace-up boots, worn,
And your face, lined,
Eyes still twinkling, though
Weary after a day's work,
Fixing,
Farming,
Fencing,
Feeding.

In my mind, you're
Going off to the barn,
To hay the cows,
Like an old imam
Heading mechanically
To daily prayers,
Moved by routines
Impossible to ignore.

The man and the work,
So embedded in the other...
No more thought of leaving -
Though as a younger man,
You spoke of some day retiring -
There was no way, and no desire,
Farming was your one remaining fire.

So, five years are gone,
And yet, everything still
Standing on the farm
Bears resemblances of you.

The peeling buildings, sagging still,
The gravel paths you tended,
The panels your hands welded,
The barns and sheds you built
Still stand, and bear the evidence
Of Arthur Bouchard's hands.

If everyone acted as I do,
I would have a hard time finding myself.