Father (First published with the Cadaverine, www.thecadaverine.com, in 2008)

Winter soggy feet,
on a hunt
for a Christmas tree.
Sinking in the snow
a swampland of
peace;
mute but
the landscape sighs,
And I feel good.
He is
leg to hip
re-attached.
And he sinks,
further into the snow
but it isn’t the steel
in his bones,
or his massive guts,
it’s the weight
of his heart.
Snow seeps through my boots,
but not through his.
They’re water-proof.