A Boy Within
As he told of his life as a boy,
his eyes dripped sea and rain from long ago.
And when he stared far away at a place
lost to all but him, books and songs,
his lips mouthed words with an actor’s recall,
talking with voices that remain silent,
until they, in quiet moments, whisper
and shout, tumbling age as if it had no rule,
surfing the air through leaf and lane.
Then on my father’s face appeared a smile.
A smile that had escaped time’s keep,
tired perhaps, yet still full of devilment.
In that instance I saw the boy that he had been.
He was surprised when I put an arm round him,
as was I. He not expecting emotion,
and I expecting a boy,
as from my eyes,
dripped sea and rain from long ago.