he was not
a fiery furnace
meant to heat a towering building;

nor yet an explosion
which warms the distant
while incinerating the near.

he was simply
a steady glowing coal
in the family fireplace;
a dependable comfort and light
that burned for nearly eighty
of the twentieth century’s
ever-advancing years;

the quiet warming
bright red ember
that waned, flickered, and died
on a rainy, windy February morning…

I miss you, Dad…
it’s cold.