I had forgotten that I wrote
my father's obituary.
What a revelation to find it
three years later
in my email archives
while searching for something else
in August by the sea
as the sun sets behind the light house
and the water moves
in the familiar way
of his smile.
Whether or not he loved
the taste of blueberries
I will always pair him
with the slick blue sweet
taste of northern mountains
and rocky sea coasts
and an optimism that followed
him to the the last.
I am a phoenix he said
I am a phoenix and I am 
about to rise.
I think he must have finally ended his
long argument with God
because lately in my dreams
he's been far more pleasant,
insisting he faked his own death
and has many more lives to live.