Ethereal Manifestations

It manifests itself in the afternoon rays of sunlight dancing through the ancient vines

Which he himself planted, when the world was still in black and white

In the smell of blackberries and plums, and the grape he used for wine

In tears which ran freely, when sensing anyone’s blight

It manifests itself in the babies he didn’t get to meet

His grandchildren’s children, with tiny hands and feet

In my grandmother’s retreating memory, her half-hearted hymns

Breaking wisps of thread which still reach out to him

My grandfather’s spirit manifests itself in every niche and bend

Of the mansion where retreating sunsets, mean anything but the end