this august, the leaves and flowers

are growing in their usual splendor.
outside on the balcony, i set a little table
and tonight when i eat my supper there
i will gaze at the long meadow
and think of you.
you would have loved
this moment with its red hue
of evening clouds
and sweet rains advancing on the bay.
like your laugh, the water
in my blue-glazed pitcher
is silent and still.
a hawk's cry
soars sharply into the sky.
you and i have had to take
two different roads. but when i hear
that river rushing
down the distant mountain,
it comforts me to know
that even though i'm late
we are both destined
for the same eternal sea.

i miss you, son