HE, MY FATHER

A robust man-
a wind dweller he was my father
with such laughter,
that reached the other side of the wall,
who sang sad songs after a shot of vodka,
bought me dozens of dolls,
whose wild goose dish scented the garden,
who showed affection in his most peculiar way
whose vigor was not to fear religious dogma
but to catch whatever life threw at him,
who I thought would outlast the wind
like Albatross.

Then, the call of a wild autumn night
summoned him away, as the melancholic moon
shone on his face.

He left for the other side;
where the sun never wakes up
and questions always remain questions

Therefore, he returns into my dreams,
passes through, ill-looking, but with serenity
his eyes behind darkness, yet, loving and tender,
but no words uttered.
I wonder if he returns to seek refuge
far from the void
to preserve his presence
or perhaps he feels safe in my dreams?