From the #poetry files

I wrote this poem years ago.  When my son, Matt, was a little boy, I would catch glimpses of my own father in my son. I see it now, too, in both my boys grown to men, and in my grandbabies. Something that remains, I suppose. It was a comfort in the years after my dad passed away. It still is.  Papa Dancing

He is in your eyes, my child--
sapphire pools wide with wonder
​reflecting the sun--a thousand fleeting torches
dancing
​as he must have danced in the days before 
a you or a me.
Arms reaching to embrace each diminutive
​ray filtering through the branches--
​to weave forever into ebony
​to sparkle again
​in your eyes.