The Grey Father


Who sculpts my bent,

my leanings?

A grim-hunched father, 



hard-wired to paint

grey for green,

color blind 

to all that thrives–

joyful noises

hope in humankind

gladness of the sun

gratitude for breath

upright posture.

Not everything falls.

Can he fathom?

The miracle we stand

right angles to the heavens. 

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: