He says they are never good enough,
yet sends me the moon that he sees,
perhaps he held it in his hand before it fell
captured in ripples that landed at his feet.
Weathered and tired at times
I hear in the voice between sentences
the font of a father so far
distance can never keep apart
when we stand beneath the same orb
feeding us with the light she gives.
He captures her, one after another after another
and pockets them in the electric mail
sent with love from somewhere up above
and I smile knowing we share
that same love
the same eyes that see as we look up,
remembering the feelings of forgiveness
for below her
everything is real and sacred
and nothing can ever be hidden from the light
when shared between one soul to another,
like small pebbles in our hands
still warm from love passed
from a father to a daughter
I think they’re beautiful
and a gift that’s always just enough.
My father emailed me yesterday and sent some photos he had taken of the super Moon, as usual saying his skills are lacking, I thought I would share the one I liked best. Men fish below her light and I’m sure the tides were full and deep. I hope they caught a lot, as my father has. I’m proud and honored. They are beautiful to me, reflections in the water, from a man to his daughter.