Of Fathers And Mentors

The conditions on the special photograph
of, one, father, who has educated me
stares back, bruised in black and white, etched as a god.
Born into kind family who supped with him,
his vision breathes his "dig" poetry en masse`.

I see him on the ocean's crusty bottom,
gone to the "sharks" and prey for the skeleton
of dead fish. "You are known, my friend." I cry out.

Once, in a willy-nilly dream I asked too
much of him, knowing that the children want change
breakage of light in their eyes, loved for knowing
him. He did not move. He did not deny I
was wrong. Pale white horse that he rides out on, give
him destiny's constellations to sigh over!

As the horizon's last statement, at your end
that sends you to a burnt rust sunset like the
one we saw together, beginning our trust
blends with the coat-tailes of fine young men in dregs,
I look agape, at you,dear mentor, father.





19 line count, 11 syllables a line