we had our forests

we had our forests,
my father and i,
where i witnessed the
sanctity of his gesture
on walks that trimmed
our margin

a hike taken in a place
with precipitating light
and inscribed
with the words of god

what mastery
of yours
did you bring to
that place for me!

my shepherd
in a cathedral of
spruce and pine,
steeplebush and needle

bowing my youth
and making souvenirs
of all the
parables between us

while bending the branch
and tramping
the fallen leaves
decaying underfoot

i witnessed those steps
before me
with the attitude of
the sojourning pilgrim

crossing great
oceans and
weathering great
squalls and
piloting great boats
made of the thinnest of skins

we had our forests,
my father and i,
whether in the hunt
for a tree to ornament
in december

or a vernal brook in august
into which we could
cast and wait
and cast and
wait

i couldn't wait of course -
i tried, i talked
and you listened
and i talked over
your listening

my boy-chatter a
thief of the
melodies of rapt immersion;
an oppressor of
woodsong and woodsilence

you would shush me
and i would watch the
back of your shirt
and ponder your heels
while the broken current
resumed

either way
our moments were
present like suspended
hummingbirds
flitting and filtering
captured by nothing
except opaque memory

a fugitive place,
memory, swallowing
life whole and
regurgitating
the merest ghosts
of it for our sympathy

i have tried congregating
the hacked recollections
of my youth into
something of a meaning

and what is left
is no ghost
no forlorn decay
no rot
no crumble

i see the
lanky birches (your
favorite)
and the brawny oaks
the barbed firs
and the leafy maples

i hear the champ on
the dry underfootings
and the trill on the
branch and a breath
in the canopy

and i especially see him
my father
and how his arms - yes
and how his legs - yes
and how his hands - yes
were my tenders

we had our forests,
my father and i,
like a soft hymn in a
sleepy boy's ear:
a sweet song
sung low
a hum

just a hum