Dreaming Dad's Poetry

I woke from a dream this morning,
a vivid dream, of Dad,
Dad reciting poetry.

At first it seemed
the poetry
was not his own.

Yet, by the end it was clear
He knew this poem by heart
because it was his own.

In the dream, I heard all the words,
listening intently
for the message beyond the words.

I woke to breeze blowing in the window
a calming and comforting breeze
and, when I realized I had dreamed of Dad

Not only of Dad
but of Dad's voice,
Dad's poetry, Dad's presence.

I replayed the dream,
and I remembered everything,
everything except the words.