A wilderness road so barren and yet so full, I was far from home,
too deep in the vast whiteout expanse of Yellowstone,
snow-mystified Douglas-firs or legions of sentinel angels
in monochrome transcendent as the steering wheel I white knuckled.
My dad had taught me the Lord’s prayer when he lived above a farmhouse
along a canal, but I extemporized for more than daily bread,
my need overflowing at last. Father, God, help me; save me;
let me live, God, so I can overcome everything, even this
fear-bedecked mind. All of me, God, every fiber of my death
revive.
He loved the snow, the snow of April blustery over the garden
he labored at while I escaped inside to video games,
the gods in empyrean delight just beyond the blurred frame
of whatever quest for points or gold I was compelled by the game to seek.
Across the street from the garden was the hospital
where he was diagnosed, where I also once lay dreaming
in my fall of a song too affecting to remember, chariots of pure water
to seize us beyond these tatters of a world.
This old scribbler wishes you the best as you walk through the valley of poetry🙏