It was my father’s way to always tend toward warmth

when it became late for him a last summer grew up around him

in it he walked each single day alone

from his house down to the beach

he moved past the people and the piers and past the seabirds swooping

and the white buildings overlooking the harbor

he was whole then and he moved with calm in the roar of the light

toward the summer’s invisible center

these are the places where he walked

he left footprints and his name written in the sand

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