it had been awhile--years
he doesn't believe in visiting
he's not there anyway
it's only remains
ashes and dust

he couldn't find the tombstone
a small slab of marble among many
his eyes walk around
reading a matrix of columns and rows
searching  for his name
his steps mindful of sacred ground
keeping balance in uneven hole-y-ness
the crab grass is overgrown
feet sinking into layers of runners
rendering footing unsure
it has to be by that tree

he finds it finally
just where it always was
they already marked it with white spray paint
a spot to be dug up
for his brother's interment
he will join Dad tomorrow
in a ceremony of guitars
this was his last chance
to visit alone with Dad

he stood staring
reading the engraved words
the stone is scarred but holding up
so nice to see it again
induced feelings of connection
a pleasant surprise

he took out his flute
drawing it close to lips
Dad never heard him play in life
perhaps he heard it in heaven
if not, maybe he'll hear it now

an improvised, sorrowful melody
fingers thinking out a tune
reverberating through hills
all the way to the ocean's sky
dissipating into wind
whispering on breezes
after pausing to read the name again
another song
he wonders if Dad heard him
then realizes it doesn't matter
he played it for *him