For Grandpa

I feel your strong hands
in the pine boards in the attic.

Passing through each doorway in
this House I hear your methodical
footsteps that moved
rhythmically as
waves against the dock.

I remember the image of your outline
at the edge of the dock staring
into the water as if
to seek a prophesy or purpose.

But your purpose was behind you
waiting, laughing and playing games
at the the dining room table.

When your heart finally turned
to us we were silenced by the beauty
that you kept so secret resting beneath
your very own ribs.

You caged it from yourself
for so many years
maybe out of fear
or maybe out of guilt.

But is was not until your heart
began to beat in a broken
rhythm that you pealed back your
own skin for the very first time.

You were new and old.
You were frail and strong.
You were fear and courage.

We let our fears of your new life's end
rain from our eyes, pooling in the crevices
of our own broken and beautiful words
that drifted to the horizon of your open ears.

At dusk now, I think of you.
Of how brightly your burned in the end
not as the smouldering of a setting sun but
as a star that never knew it was a star.

A star that burst open;
a reverse super nova spilling
all of its color and grace on the walls,
the bed sheets and the tops of our heads.

The echo of that deluge will live
in my bones forever.