Reflections of a Father

Words fell from my lips, echoing soft,

I heard my father’s voice, like a shadow aloft.

It slipped through the cracks of the evening's embrace,

with disbelief lingering, I caught my own trace.

The chair where he’d sit, fabric soft with old tales,

now threads intertwine in our laughter and gales.

In speaking his way, I found shadows of me,

understanding the weight of his history.