Dad had his hands shaking   
 joined on the comforter in pastel shades   
 without the gray mice of boredom escaping.      
  
 It didn't take a few words   
 no noble diatribes   
 to assess the tenderness of the moment.      
  
 There were drips of spirit   
 on the pictures attached to the bedroom wall   
 like flies on the tapestry of a life.   
  
 From crack to crack   
 will we walk   
 without the footsteps crunching on the pebbles   
 at the foot of the cliffs   
 that the sea cut up at its ease   
 in times of storms   
 the smile of the emerging mists   
 letting pass under the paleness of a low sun   
 the balance that establishes stillness   
 near the port of arrival   
 for the last boat   
 sown with wildflowers   
 at the sunset of our memories.      
  
  
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