Under a late winter's
moon, my daughter
sat in a boat
while her father
watched from the shore.

Tethered by a
taut rope,
her small craft
rocked precariously.
She called out
for him to fish her
from the murky
waters.

Though she cried,
he cut the rope
stony faced
waiting for the
boat to drift.

He continued
to walk toward the
beckoning calls of
a girlfriend’s voice
though she pleaded.
"Why her over me?"

His ghostly form
faded transparent.
All along he had been
an apparition
through which
one could see
the line of trees.

I stood on a bridge,
watched her drift.
Hearing the cries,
I called her name.
She turned,
reached for my hand.
But the swift current
carried the craft
just beyond my reach.

Jumping into the
the swift waters,
I swam able strokes
to reach her.
But the boat pitched
wildly and moved
away in the
rushing waters.

Tired, I clung to rocks
and watched her
form shrink.

I awoke gasping
and bewildered,
I ran to the window
and sucked in
the dank, night air

Heavy with sleep,
I searched for answers
from the moon
when I remembered
this was no dream.
And lifted my face to
the skies to wail.