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In loving memory of my father, John Graham (8/22/48-7/12/19)

Drumbeat stills in the hallowed heart of the kiva
the sage settles heavy as we weave your burial shroud
threads of truth, of love, and all our misgivings
it conceals and reveals in equal measure

In the field of reeds you face each moment of a life
weighted by the dark terrors of your making
an accounting on false scales that rendered
judgments and suffering without compassion

Papa, do not let your heart be encumbered
a place has been prepared for you
all your imaginary crimes pardoned
divine light limns the dawn
reeds intone a celestial song
to transmute stone to eagle feather