Another Father's Day,
a reminder of the song you've since become,
the voice of woven, pulsating
memory, of those three
extraordinary days you
got to see him,
hold him,
allow yourselves to
dream.
He would never come to know you,
or you him
across a measure of years . . .
but what is Time?
Cannot eternity be contained in
a single moment? in
the selfless flow of love,
a touch, the holding,
the breath of hope?
Who's to say there's no 'knowing' there?
For my friend R and his wife,
may the fact of J.V.'s brief presence
ease the ache of his absence,
be yet cause to celebrate today, for the
honor of fatherhood, the "dear imagination"
of which you spoke, the birth of new poems,
the knowledge that this connection -
and your and his continuing conversation -
will never end.
