Your e-mail engraves a smile while opening its contents.
I wanted to reply, to share a thought,
but my daughter reminds me during that curiosity,
an obligation to buy new shoes.
Being careful not to lose this thought in the pocket where I found my keys,
I placed it with a melody, a familiar whistle on tongue tip.
She with I weave like a zipper into traffic talk about school, friends, photographs
we found ourselves still framed on 6th and G.
Placing her hand in mine with careful grip,
she stops in time to save a purple flower called moment-
forged loneliness- alone in the parched concrete seam.
Placed it in my shirt. Seemingly protected by a giggle she looks for shoes;
She is only thirteen, tomorrow she will be sixteen
maybe laying in her bed with a realized
pain of the first kiss placed with ruse. Not today.
Today, we drove home foolishly to the radio,
as your thought is misplaced from absentminded lips.
We pull into the driveway. She kisses my cheek
within a single brush stoke of innocence;
suddenly redandblue skyandsun understand the simplicity
of the single purple flower (that replaced your reply,