dad's water spigot

reaching to 

turn on the spigot

an image of my dad

floats to the surface

of my mind

i lay my hand

where his hand

must have laid

a thousand times

i close my eyes

and imagine that

i can feel his energy

pouring into me

as water seeps

into the ground

after a gentle rain

so his quiet guidance

permeated my life

and even though

the spigot of his life

no longer turns

i still see his artistry

in the bricks of this house

i hear his voice

in the swaying trees

and i feel his hands

guiding my novice hands

as i humbly try

to carry on what 

he nobly built

so many years ago