5 A.M. the lake is still, calm

the beach sand is smooth and quiet,

the footprints of yesterday erased by the night waves,

behind us lay only two trails.

There are places where my trail disappears.

There are places where my trail goes in circles.

Places where I'd walk to the left of my father -

places where I'd walk to the right.

Places where my stride was gaping,

places where i was barely waking, stumbling

even a place where i fell.

But my father's trail is constant, consistent -

not one stride longer than any other, and all aligned

straight, never faltering, never leaning, never turning,

never stopping to help me up.