The waves wash the feet
\nof the stone.
\nLight falls through the
\ngolden coreopsis.
\nThe jade of maple trees
\nloom above the pier.
\nFreighters glide like
\nblack islands,
\nappearing and disappearing
\non the horizon.
\nA piece of me refuses to die.
\nTo go away.
\nA boy sucking the stems
\nof day lilies for their nectar,
\na scintilla of sweetness.<\/p>\n
He embraces his knees
\nlooking out to the lake.
\nIt is May time.
\nHis birthday.
\nHe has a conversation
\nwith himself.
\nSunfish swim in the shallows
\nlike flowers.
\nHow old am I he asks,
\ntrying to understand
\nthe number.<\/p>\n
I listen,
\nas air moves through
\nthe rushes.
\nI do not exist yet,
\nbut I come anyway,
\nto say silently,
\nhappy birthday.
\nTo redeem the end
\nof his story,
\nthis part of me
\nthat explains who I am.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
The waves wash the feet of the stone. Light falls through the golden coreopsis. The jade of maple trees loom above the pier. Freighters glide…<\/p>\n