the least he could do

When I step from night to day
When I pass over
I want my father to come running
To meet me.

Fleshy, strong hands
Round beaming face
Set free from his own personal darkness
Reaching for me, reaching.

I miss him, gone these four and thirty
I pause to consider him
Now and again
And find that place where he lived in my heart
Still empty.

Words would not be.
We would speak in hugs and smiles
And light would pour from us
In celebration.

When I step over, from night to day
I want my father to come running
To meet me.

It’s the least he could do.