Anniversary
The day will come
when you’ll be dead longer
than alive—thankfully
not soon.
There are of course years
long before, without you
breathing—and your years
without me even
an idea. Then there are those
infant months, when I knew
your voice, your bearded
face, not your name—
at least to speak
it aloud. And in the night,
father, I cried out
and in the day—
like now.
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