(In memory of Michael Joseph Powell, and in honor of Lynda Everman)
“I’m proud of you,”
said a white-haired man
skipping rocks on the lake.
“Thank you, sir. But, do you know me?”
“Sure I do. I saw your face in the clouds
a little while ago, or now, or every day to come.”
“I was there, all right. Looking out. Looking up.
It was…it is so beautiful. So fulfilling.
An Alpha – Omega moment.
I saw forever turn to blue;
but sir, I saw no one else.”
“Ah. Well, I was here, by the lake.
Looking at the blue-sky water.
And I saw you, reflected in triumph.
Reaching up with your hands.
You wanted blue arms to hold you there,
over top of all this good earth.
Spirits suspended like a chord.
So, you could finally see.
And me? Well, I felt a smile ripple inside,
as I stooped for a smooth skipping stone.
You see, once I reached for the blue sky, too.
Reached, and found my wings.
They’d been there all the time, I know.
But that one day, I reached from a deep enough place
to finally find them. And oh, what a moment it was.
I was so proud that day.
Now, do you understand
why I’m also proud of you?”
“Yes, sir. Yes, I think I do.”