Usually he is called in from somewhere,
I pause by his sleeping face,
pondering the strong features
gently disassembled in their fatigue.
goes beyond cool morning fragrances
into hum of heat and rinses of cold,
and I know that in the black of last night
he was up healing those who would call wrong right.
Even in sleep this giant earthly father
breathes strength and strict devotion.
I choke with emotion and hoarsely spill forth my message.
Reality places itself between his eyes, and
duty moves his body. Our reaching hands
clasp tight in love. He laughs as young as I am.
We lead each other to the kneeling family circle.
Whatever despair he knows
is caged in discipline. After
a comfortable relationship with silence,
he begins the prayer.