for my daughter, Lily Belle
Having crawled through a crack in my third-story window,
I drift, this night, to a familiar place
in search of age in a more youthful face,
far from cathemeral carnage below;
Though adrift, I drift unlike a drifter drifts, but drift as snow:
weightless in winter, like holiday lace.
I travel ‘til sunrise; day’s first rays erase
the darkness behind me I made myself know;
And then, in a meadow where Lilies grow,
I land and wrap myself in love’s embrace.
I am thankful then, now, for all my daughter’s grace,
for loving the father who once let her go.
Copyright © Phillip Garcia | Year Posted 2018
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