Winter has numbed us in ice,

faced with mounting crystals

your presence retreats

 

I turn in circles

 

books unopened, pens untouched

the day runs by, meals made,

a night, another day,

 

I turn in circles

 

feeling you wane

as if your breath were fainter

your body more transparent

preparing your soul

to lift from its bones

home for 88 years

 

I turn in circles

 

From armor to onion skin

a warrior’s challenge

to go in peace

without fanfare, artifice

or gun powder

 

rather a slow fading of the edges

a pacifying of the will

a softening of your ardor

now saved for me, only

 

and in the wake of your silent withdrawal,

you leave an emptiness I apprehend

 

and I turn in circles

 

 

To my father, 4 years before you passed

 

****