I saw him.
‘twas only a glimmer of him
of the barest shimmer of his eye.
So spare that I wasn’t…I couldn’t be sure.
(Funny, it seems to me –
not hilarious, but rather ironic –
how folk, looking at babies,
characteristically, perhaps unconsciously, searching for the iconic,
a representative symbol pointing beyond to another,
turn to one parent or the other or both,
saying, “Your child looks just like you!”
Then, it also seems to me, as days become years,
children grow into their own, individual, grown-up faces;
the ones with which on all of life’s paths they will walk,
the ones through which they will see all, speak to all,
the ones of which they will be seen by all, heard by all,
the ones by which they will be known by all.
Then, as circles run, back ‘round to the beginning,
at least, it doth not seem, but rather, it is for me…)
As days have become years,
and then, more years,
arriving at that time called “now”,
now, by time’s premeditation, I see him clearly;
my countenance, aging, becoming my father’s face.