DADDY'S BIRDS

The clean, white,
Graceful neck of the
Heron
Pulsates slightly as it
Lifts each foot so delicately,
Wading through muddy water. 

When I see these
Feathered miracles
I think of you,
My long-dead
Father. 

Like me, you always
Noticed the small
Beauties, the
Tiny and fleeting
Seconds of time
That hold bits of God's
Best handiwork. 

Some days,
I see your birds
Flying,
Their wings moving
Gently as they
Soar on swells of
Invisible
Skyward lift. 

Do you see them
From where you live
Now?
Do you see me and
The longing ache
That still brings tears
To my eyes
When I witness them
Ringed about a stretch of
River water, as though
Immersed in some kind of
Business meeting;
All the while
Haloed by the
Rising sun? 

Oh, God,
How I still
Miss you!
Oh, God,
How I would give
So much
For only a moment's
Touch of your hand
On my head
In blessing. 

So,
I watch each day
For the herons.
I study their
Every movement
Looking for the
Sign that
Daddy's birds
Will someday
Fly
Me
Home.