depth of field

i think of my father
when i look at any picture
and notice where the photographer
chose to allow the details through
if the focus was close
and the background details
are blurred away
when i look to see where the choice was made
what details to show
or if the artist must have used a tripod
to use a long enough exposure
to get everything
at every distance
as sharp as mechanically possible

i think of my father
when i tighten screws
on the switchplates in my house
and how he told me
so many years ago
that lining up the slots in those screws
was the mark of a true craftsman
the go/no go gauge of quality

i think of my father
at family dinners
as we talk after the meal
and how he lines up his placemat
his napkin
his water glass
making parallel lines
and equidistant arrangements
as we speak
and i know it takes no thought
it is absolutely no distraction
from our words
it is simply the gestures
of a patient zen master engineer
practicing a slide rule
kind of mindfulness
making everything right
with this small world set in front of him

i think of my father
every time i feel a torque wrench
click in my hands
partly because he gave me my first one
a long beam type for use on
my motorcycle rear wheel axle castle nut
and actually my last one too
a tiny quarter inch drive
for setting allen screws
on carbon fiber bicycle parts
but also because that click says to me
the same thing it has always said to him
this thing
this one small thing is perfect

but then
to balance it all out
and to develop the clearest
highest quality
most detailed image of my father
i think about how he is also
so strongly moved
by the human grace of the arc
of a perfect hook shot
in a washington university
lady bears basketball game

i think about sitting behind him
at my cousin's wedding
three summers ago in montana
i think about how he watched his brother jim
set his walker to the side
so he could walk his daughter down the short grassy aisle
and how jim made it halfway to the minister
with julie on his arm
before my father had to take off his glasses
to wipe the tears from his eyes
those tears
traveling such perfect
non linear
non parallel
misaligned tracks
as they flowed down
through the features of his face.