In a foreign land
that you once loved
I sit near birds and above squirrels
and think
how you might have liked it here
but would not have bothered coming
because of the stairs.
I suspect
you’d not be up at such an hour
to experience the serenity
the sounds of the town
or the light dusting of dew.

You would never have been here
in this place
and this hour
with me
and still
here and now
I think of you.
I’m glad you’re with me
in at least some way.

Happy Father’s Day,
dead dad.
I hope you can treasure your peace
as much as I am mine.