like a tree alone at night
my father sits in our garden
the lone star in the sky showers him with radiance
and apart from the wind tussling around with his parchment
the furious scribble of his pen
he is silent
stoic
and solitary

he is eternities away
lost in his mind space with no suit
and I can no longer recognize him
until suddenly
he jumps
taking a graceful swan dive into the untold
with no mission control relaying actions
just his mind

before he emerges with the sun
steadily walking towards my mother as she stands on our patio
the sky behind her as if it were painted by Van Gogh himself
turbulent and swimming with passion
I can see him again through the parted clouds
he is different, yet the same

as he turns towards my window
giving me the wink he always has
I realize:

no matter how far he travels
and how long he stays away
my father is still my father
and there is nothing that can make me feel any other way