my hand

...would have been on the small of your back. 

My hand would have found the crook in your elbow. 

I would have leaned my weight against your weight, 

and wrapped you in my sister hug. 

There, as your living father turned into a legend, 

as he passed from this place to another, 

joining his wife and daughter,

and every dog that ever galloped toward him wagging, 

I wish you would have had a sweet soft place to land.

I wish you had been encircled, that night and every night, 

an arm wrapped around your waist, 

a hand on your heart in the dark. 

It is hard to be here among the living

when one part of you is dead. 

And it is hard to ache for life

as parts of you have a winter numb. 

But, know this, you are loved, 

you are alive, and I count on your light. 

Even as I know you'll return to the sea

and find your home in the town your father is buried, 

part of you will always be right here, 

in me, in others like me who love you so much. 

And no matter where you are, 

or how your reach out, 

our hands will find you and hold you tight.