FIGURE IN THE DOORWAY

I ran from you laughing

into the cool of late summer nights,

your bogeyman arms tumbling me

through rough cut park grass

down hills endless under blurred stars,

 

ran the sticky wood of every bar,

back roads of library stacks

past Kierkegarde, Ayn Rand,

Aquinas too, and St. Paul,

room to room in art galleries,

down rose gardens paths

and airport ramps,

 

anywhere, anyplace

but up the steps

to see your silhouette,

shrunken, glaring down at me,

bent over a cane

 

Father!