On this date in 2005 my Dad passed away after a prolonged decline. The following is from an elegiac series honoring his memory, published in Thread of the Real: Days The backs of my father’s hands,splashed with bruises . . . the dreamhad scrubbed them clean. His heartwas healed, and the raw gravelgrinding down his knee jointshad been washed away. I thoughtthat for the first time in yearshis ears could catch sparrow song,chitter of squirrels, faint breathof a breeze in the shadowy treesaround his garden.Read More