Aubade For My Father
you rise in sepia
like sun through empty trees
sycamore ghost
gold words scroll across your aura
I hear them through the camera of your eyes
leather and roses - stained glass and ink
poet who never read poetry
who taught me how to see
the vanishing luminous muse
I echo you back from
borders of namelessness singing
your name in my sleep
when you return
trailing mists of morning
I will know that you are still
a watcher of the dawn
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