For my father and mentor                                                                                                       Don Welch 1932-2016

SWIFTS

Is it true we enter heaven                                                                                           through chimneys

no longer resting on stub tails    our beaks                                                         in bricks’ cracks

Is this what it is to go solely                                                                                 As wing

to be loved by the sky

Tell me   wise ones   how many flits                                                                           add up to glee

in an air territorial   one                                                                                      that’s driven out jays

and if spirit’s not iridescent      with what                                                                    does light play

Don Welch

To go solely as wing, to be loved by the sky, gleefully and sweetly released into the sanctuary of spirit and light. That is precisely how my father left this earth.

Years ago, in a song whose title I no longer remember, I was taken by the words beautiful agony. A paradox, indeed. And yet, as agonizing as the last days of a loved one’s life may be for those who cannot imagine a world without him or her, they may also be incredibly beautiful. For me, my family, and countless friends and colleagues, these days were beautiful, filled with reverence and great love for my father’s life and legacy.

In the sanctuary of sweet release, there is beauty in the going–as well as in the coming to those chimneys through which all swifts enter heaven. And if spirit’s not iridescent? I can hear my father’s voice, feel the very rhythms of his speech–rhythms that have long sustained and shaped me–as he answers, with what would light play? 

How immeasurably blessed all of us have been to play in the light of my father, your friend, colleague, and teacher.