I saw my father through sunlight through the window
through the fog of experience. He was at the bottom
of the garden, bent over the gooseberries, touching
the green globes with the tenderness of a beast. Such
power channelled to such humble servants. He seemed
to give permission to each berry to let go of the bush
before catching it in his hand. If he had ever raged,
all memory of pain was now forgotten* as he tended,
half-hidden, to the plants behind the parted hedgerows
until he became a moving sphere of peace among the
vibrating green. Is there a word* for love given in
secret from a safe distance?
forgotten: temporarily illuminated, thus providing
radiation for currently-forming memories
word: mechanism that gives the illusion of contacting
while providing further, possibly needed, distance