What are the changes of five years' tugging and pulling
On your mind, your face, your frame?
I have seen the years' etchings on my own face,
Felt the downward pull, the weight of years,
Seen wrinkles that had never been appear.

What thoughts you must have had in five years' time,
I cannot really know, but I have tried, and I have cried
The long nights away, and the days have lingered on,
And I have missed your serious face, and your laughing eyes,
And your fire. Oh, I have grown chill without your fire!

I know the depths to which I have plumbed, sounding answers,
But answers never seem to come, and the plumb returns dry,
When I wind it back to my weary, waiting heart.
Though my hopes drop silently into depths like falling stone,
No splash rewards my falling heart to tell me I am not alone.

So, birthdays come and go, and though we, both of us, grow old,
Still I have hope to spend, and at least a falling stone moves on,
And nothing ever really stops, so I hope on...so I hope on.
If you read these words some day, know my love won't go away,
That in every way I long to hear your voice, to see your face.

Love always,

Dad

Calling Spring North,
Chirping buds to burgeon,
Teetering in rain that turns to sleet,
Clutching black, wet branches,
Feathers puffed against the chill,
Cocked heads seeking sleepy worms,
Side glancing carefully the neighbor's cat.

These red-breasted birds
Chortling in the morning sun
Precurse Spring,
Sing cheer to me.

Though I, no longer young,
My Autumn just begun,
Winter coming on,
Life's seasons only last a while.

I have a Savior,
Who has gone before,
Endured cold Winter's death,
Calls me to Spring,
Beckons me to Summer....

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.

Pretending not to care
seems to be
the easiest route
for those with bigger hearts.
Although,
you come to find
as you walk that road
the pitfalls are much more dangerous.

Winters tide was regressing lingering
in moments of perpetual imbalance.
For the sight of seasons changing
was becoming benumbed in reflection.

Tears were woefully descending as
sentiment was clinging to branches.
An interval of passing was imminent
and one was fleeting in bleak breath.

As one was entombed in slumbering
hibernation, never quite departing.
Petals awoke to the kiss of a thousand
sunbeams, basking in seasons embrace.

after.

sometimes
when the sky bleeds out into purple
city spinning all around
those few stars so close
watching you carried along
by a sweet night’s wind
so softly you just taste
it licking your purple lips
reaching out breathing in the homebound
heavens

whispering something like words
she once said smiling
i pretend to forget

her perfume.

still every once in a while
i’ll walk by someone wearing
that same perfume you used to

i pray ms. wind never carry
me too far away
tho i know she will
she’s the last of my mistresses
she likes it that way
and i do too

yes i’m sentimental
i was born this way
maybe my Mother held
me too long when i cried
telling me: it’s okay
we’re all going to die
so do well, son,
do well when
your time arrives

all.*

you gave me diamonds
so suddenly, all i saw
the pressure from which we
formed, felt you all

we’ll all turn to dust
all i want is to feel you all