beyond the horizon where the fenceline disappears,
willows weep in darkness for his passing.
a young boy, waiting around his father,
suddenly extends his arms to be picked up,
and that is how the sky comes closer, bringing with it
a cloud that started waning miles ago,
above the field where the willow moans, like a river drowning
from its bank, the clouds shifts as his father lay dead.

and though the otherwise cloudless sky has been broken,
and the young boy is tempted to believe in it, he still ask,is it so?

he then hears his mother shout to him in laughter, and this, maybe this,
is her way of saying,

if you are asked my son, how you are touched seventeen years after my death.

you can reply "so much so".