MARCH, 1980
it’s rain like this
that brings back my dad
young and strong
holding me to his warm neck
at the bus stop
I would pretend to fall asleep
in transit, blocks before our transfer
so he would raise me to his chest
holding the little umbrella over us
with his free hand
later years revealed
he knew my ruse
but carried me anyway
to keep my legs dry
from the sidewalk puddles
after these many ages
driving past that stop
I can still feel his labored breath
vapor in the wind, like him
carry me still
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Passion
.
steam, the way it flows
remind us
that beauty is effortless
that dissipation art
requires a lifetime to master
memory is a dancing mute
lending form to the wind
unfurling forever homeward
forever looking back
forever longing that
first fire
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Don’t date the most beautiful girl in the world, Date the girl that make your world the most beautiful.
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