All Saints – Michael and Lester

(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.”

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