Late at night in my younger years,
my father woke me in the middle
of the darkest of nights.
A Goliathic shadow, he
placed his hand where a father’s
hand rests– the world passes from
a man’s shoulders.
He pointed up to the dancing lights in the sky…
I saw and whispered, wondered-
So high above me, so far away-
so wondrous, and I felt small
in pajamas.
Father, the lights dance outside my window again tonight.
Where is your guiding finger?
Father, where am I? where am I?
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