Voices on the Wind Voices from Home
As dads do by Lars Samson Forgiveness can die without being asked for — withering from lack of realization and caring. Any offered, falling — unsewn — on concrete. Your three-year-old face peeks from inside this twenty-fifth edition — reminding me of tiny head nudging against my lonely hour caress. Palms nightly cupping your growing crown — calming dream storms to a sigh breeze. Your gatling words jerk from a skull grown to lose voices and echoes you talk over. So many lost days we could have listened together, comforted myths and mistakes, and learned touch as more than sleight of hand. I’ve waited six years and will continue as long as dads do — for you to find the piece of heart I planted in yours. Memories will keep forgiveness blooming until you catch its fragrance.