soft like the moon

perhaps it is because

i am an august birth

that i feel compelled

to look for

summer's faded remnants -

to find evidence

that the world i was born into

is somehow contained

in these

dark fingertip trees

scratching at

empty pale blue skies.

i feel real joy

in the splashes

of moss on their trunks

and the rain-rinsed

blue of lichen

on the rocks at their base.

it's so much like

the wish

i feel in the deepest way

at times

to once again feel

my father's presence

in this world.

i slow down.

i stop.

i think

and feel

him

here in me

and

around me.

soft

like the moon

in the mid-winter twilight.