Coming over Briar this morning
I saw a field
of burning white clouds
Mounds and mounds of white gleaming stillness,
Sun-lashed by fierce winter joy,
Merciless laughter,
A reckless burning celebration,
Bare silhouette-trees etched in silent surrender,
Raised arms against the billowing triumph,
A picture of the distant shores of heaven.
My heart slumped in resignation to the unavoidable:
The serenity of the defeated,
The calm of the vanquished;
The shock of recognition and the surge of sorrow
That escorts the cognizance of splendor...
Gary journeyed home thru a silent,
deep dark Montana morning,
When the sky exploded with a glory that wilted him to a
stop.
The voice of Love burned through his soul,
"This is your father bidding you farewell"
When he arrived home his mother met him at the door.
“Your father is dead.”
He felt the waves of hope
Crashing on the distant shores of heaven.
His grief ensconced in a holy peace
And his sorrow married his joy.
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