Contributor: JD DeHart

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You were the answer
I found at a tender age.

All ages are tender
in their way.

Captured in the wind-
bent tree, unbroken, a metaphor
for your arms reaching.

I had to learn a new language,
a brand-new culture, yet another
place to fit and not quite form.

Maybe now I know your voice,
the trace of your finger on a
movement of storm clouds.

I’m learning these moments
are forgotten sooner than anything
can be remembered.

There is always something.


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