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On the Death of My Father
by Carole Buggé

I dream of this door he will walk through
in a house by the sea
fresh and bright and shining
like the young man he once was
So full of possibilities,
untouched by sorrow and loss and knowing
his eyes the same grey blue they ever were
the color of spring rain
his heart full of hoping
no room for things that later crowded in
doubts and darkness, losing and wanting
No, now he is the bright youth of my dreams,
stepping through the blue door
out into the light
towards the crystal water
across a sea of burning sand
to take to the waves
Swimming out to sea with sure, easy strokes
with the confidence of youth
the boy within the man
Heading towards another, darker door
but without fear in his heart
only gladness
knowing somehow that what awaits
is another, brighter world
more lovely than we can imagine
What knowledge do I have of this other world?
Nothing, only this:
an October sunset
the soft June murmur of a mourning dove
the late Beethoven quartets
Monet's haystacks
But mostly this:
Just love
The stars are bright at night
but love burns brighter than a thousand suns
Now try to tell me death will triumph
Open the door; I walk through it with you
onward, and out to sea
to be swallowed by the shimmering waves


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