sage

sage and honest. sage and callus.
a written word. a tinkered page.
might you shoot me down
might i rise back up
from a weathered ditch
dim and lit with complexities.

you stand alone. still and calm.
someone is calling for you.
a whithered ghent, 
yet a youthful sort of wretch
just as he steps through the haze
it is me.

but that you could have guessed.
i spit such simple jests.

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Poem for Dad’s 63rd

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Saw a song