A poem for my Dad, and yours if you want it to be

Our fathers

You thought you were leaving

You watched your body failing

And you tried to imagine a world which you did not exist in

You couldn’t, and neither could we

But now we know

There’s a branch on that tree still wearing the heat of your hand

That sand, by the edge of the sea, where those children play; the grains they stir shifted under your foot first

The dog on the riverbank circles back, to the place where you stood

They know too

And we, your flesh and blood

were wrapped in the cloak of you

The dust you left when you walked on earth settled on us too

We see you

You’re still here