C’est la vie
So they sail away
Waving and winded
Their hair like
Unfinished stitches.
Inheriting our hands
Our bloodied history
Our layering of apology
Like noise upon snow.
Carpe diem, grab them,
Hold them. Hold them and sing.
Hold them the way you’d mean to
If you knew there was no mourning.
_
anticipatory story
my mother is old, my father older the hopes in my heart older too I will them to come back daily the way every day shows the way every day ...
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