NaPoWriMo 26/4/16: Snow and Sand

When my father died

At last he came to me.

 

Snow falling in drifts,

Sand blown in patterns,

Atom by atom,

Assembling inside me.

 

Sifted into my heart,

Drifted through corners of me;

Things that we never said

Both chilled and warmed me.

 

He looks out through my eyes:

That lake, those swans,

That monumental sky,

No longer I, but we, see. 

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