on wings
concentrating on my work these words fall free my mom is gone the phone rings minutes later one choking tear stared into the southern light of february s six foot windows and i laughed at my dad s confusion as he is so alive leaving work i seek out the river heading home down stairs at the bridge to the bank near trains numb along the tracks until i see my white house its steep green roof the rock dove circling over my home around again again from a tie between rails i watch the bird come around swing around fly to me circle my face above tracks against the heavens falling with tears in gravel and creosote believing she was perhaps is only hidden only dead and only missed by fools challenge submission and true story from the hour of my mother s death Written February 27th, 2002 © on Aug 10 2002 01:52 PM PST, Frederic Jacob Gutknecht IV other
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"concentrating on my work..."