Footprints (for my father)
Our footprints, the tracks of our play, going all ways, ran deep along the shore. All our lives we laughed along the stretch, we laughed at simple games, splashing through pools of silver, across sands of burnished gold. We laughed against the sky and you listened to young voices, spellbound, time out of mind. That day, the wind whipped the waves, the swell surged, we were beaten by torrents, caught in the rising storm, the crash, deafening. We floundered, soaked to the bone. The light was cold, so very cold and we shouted as we saw you, separate, tides encircling, gazing out in silence. We saw your still, bowed head, as if in prayer. The rip took your feet, and you were taken, consumed, the falling man. We took your arms, hands, searched in eyes of ages blue, taking that curve of jaw, seeing your soul as a burning ship and still your head was bowed. As the tide slipped, you were so white, so white, kissed by time's silent lips. No cry, nor whisper, a cross shape near crested roar and the people you love carry you from the shore For more on Matthew check the link below Honorary Wolfpack Contributor: Matthew M C Smith https://feversofthemind.com/2021/02/23/poetry-interview-with-matthew-m-c-smith-black-bough-poetry/
Fevers of the Mind 