Haiku (almost an ode).

By way of explanation, he says

I’m like early earth.
Soon I’ll realize I’m not flat;
That Sun’s the center.

Sour grass & coral
Honeysuckle rub stories
From his mouth like wool.
Sweetchild-man of flesh
& stone: your sister’s stomach
Blooms beside your fears.
No one’s touched his cheek
In so many years his beard
Grows to meet my palm.
Printed photographs
Grafted to the wall like skin.
Crackerjack daylight.
His bowling father—
His bowling, whistling father—
His middle name, creased.
His she is far
away— the mirror’s foul play.
An eyelash goes grey.
Don’t tell me how hard
You love,
he whispers.
It’s too small in here.
I sing: you were free
You were already free you
Were already free.


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