no point in pointing to the past
each momentum passes upon
coming
in the space between
arriving & leaving you
learn to breathe
to breathe is
to fall
loose into mattresses
of surf
full of air
bubbles
drift to shore
with the slow tide
as light as moon go
in the sky
and on the sea.
Sitting on the wooden bench under the lilac,
while Chloe plays in the age-old schoolyard,
Papa awaits the second coming, not knowing
what to expect, unable to recall the first coming.
