At the margins
at the outskirts
edge of your father’s skirt
where you cannot enter
barred by intangible bands
of light that give
to the touch
Wait the falling sun's
slow tumble
the coming dark
that covers the crawling
creeping over earth's face;
that covers what comes from you.
Don’s ask, don’t seek
after what seeps
a geyser of giving.
swallow it till swells
grows heavy within
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