clan

genes cling like ghosts

as they sketch the tides

of tomorrow and today

time flies, hours flower,

smiles wake then to sing

in the tune of our bodies

of how we are built bone

by bone, and so sensitive 

of seasons not yet come 

in the rustle of the years

see flashes of possibility

all the strange certainties 

of dust and of distance

in the middle of things

coiling through our kin

Pic: Nu, Big A, and Grandma S.