Our Father

He extended
his routine flight and flew
above our camp, hovered there
in his rescue chopper, that rumbling chariot
as we ran to the lake shore
to greet him, waved and hollered;

an image of God and angels.

He circled behind the trees,
a thundering perimeter,
a whirring proclamation

I am that I am and you are mine!

Today he snowshoes up to a rented
hut. His wife has barred him from his house,
scattered his belongings
into locked up warehouses,
skilled at taking hostages.

Alone,
a thin candle fixed
into a cut away coffee can, he reads
about a boy, a delinquent boy, the toughest
kid on the Big J ranch,
who rode off on a wounded horse,
beaten ugly, a lazy eye, trailing ear,

he reads
about how the ranchers found him in a clearing,
face buried, sobbing into the horse’s chest
whose sad face stood with newborn watchfulness

and our father,
hunched on a rough hewn bench, far
from home, sobs into his massive, perfect hands
in the fading light,

a vision of God and angels.