Sunday, September 26, 2021

moving to the future

my arms are crossed behind your back
my fingers are too
as though we're raising a stout hammer 
to a sickle moon

I can only watch through this rapid door 
the holiness of 
infancy, childhood, school's odd certitude
and uncertain youth 

your smile now a secret scroll of prophecy 
close to breaking
lashed in ritual errancy and exhortation to 
a city of last resort

and your keys to a kingdom of possibility
yet you share, sweet child--
as you unbar our door to swing open yours--
so warmly, a spare set

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