You are the heavy storm of sawdust
kicked up by a rapidly revolving saw blade, that, despite its possible hazard to health, has made me fall in love
time and time again
with woodworking.

You are the aroma of motor oil
that indulges my senses during routine
automobile repairs and tune-ups.

You are the slow leak of antifreeze
from the broken abode below the hood
that has yet
to feel your healing hands.

You are the engine
that keeps so many others
functioning properly, an asset
to the hearts of all men and machines.

You are the sun
that has often prevailed
in giving me
the warmth I need
to move on, enlightening me
and the path that will
take me away from
here.

You are the sparkling, blue waves
that crash against the butterscotch sand
at Nauset and Marconi Beaches
along the Cape Cod coast,
the lighthouse beacon
that beckons ships
through the moonlit abyss
between them and the shore
of your reminiscent childhood.

You are the library
from which I derive my own ways
and that which
I will never fully know
or comprehend.

You are the blood
that courses through
my young veins, giving me
the resiliency to push on
through the extremes of
life and not allowing me
to give in to
seemingly impossible odds.

You are the warrior
who isn’t trained to waver
or give in,
not even
when you are
broken, beaten and scarred.
You are the will
that has carried me this far,
and that which continues
to do so.

You are my stars,
my sky,
my mind,
my drive,
my only father,
and I love you.