My Father’s Ghost in Angled Light

My father’s ghost in angled light,
In moons of southward facing dawn,
In ever changing ocean’s form,
In single column’s broken crowns.

His death in other worldly night
Had taken him to foreign times,
A partial form of ravens’ soul
But eyes that still held crystal spark.

My father’s ghost in wayward clouds,
That shone with silver water’s weight,
And broke the moon in fourteen shapes
That fell to earth in silent drops.

His ashes crashed in tattered waves,
That stole like undertaker’s breath,
In every corner without hope,
Of coming dawn or brighter sight.

My father’s ghost in all that stood
In those who sought to take away,
This single vision left to me,
My father’s ghost in angled light.