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 Kierkegaard, 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
over the grip of a cane…
Father!