Just beneath the surface is joy mixed with pain, misses him so deeply; he’ll never rise again. Longs for fitting tribute, a living monument, to rock that was father whose death’s constant lament.
Talisman to conjure pleasant memories, not photo nor letter, but hint of summer breeze. To me as physician brings him in a shroud, wanted resurrection, not lay him in the ground. Patients I deliver back to strength and health, are metal creations; often toys of wealth.
Supplicant’s endearing, envision feisty colt, something’s in her eye that’s neither log nor mote. Strong is adoration for idol obsidian. Colt shows trepidation and all the hopes of spring. Monument she brings me to her has always been. Father’s magic carpet, created way back when.
Fear I know the answer, must make inquiry, is ride that she’s brought me property of deceased? Lips turn slightly upward, though her eyes look down, knows I’ve understanding of the quest she’s on. Colt is lovely filly, stands just past fifteen hands. Monument she’s brought me fits a taller man.
Gently, like a father, I try to ease the sting; for her to ride his carpet would be a dangerous thing. Nodding in comprehension, can’t quite trust her voice, listens as I explain that she still has some choice. Talk of making wall-art; entomb ride in Shadow Box. From tepid confirmation know at idea she balks.
Donning robes of counselor, wider we cast our net. Ask if another rider her carpet might abet. Now her eyes are smiling, minutely pain’s reduced. Colt is affianced to man with height infused. Together stride forward to resurrect Dad’s ride, though joy is once removed, I leave her satisfied. Just a bike mechanic, who works with his hands. I’ve wisdom to know bikes lead to fairy lands.
Upward, to the surface, is joy displacing pain. There’s great satisfaction when bliss can ride again.