mothers fathers brothers sisters friends we are
like the fruits of eden’s gardens fresh
springing forth from our loins and hearts,
the riches of our days and nights,
the apples of our eyes so sweet to the lips and touch,
young and pink and green and brown and ripe—
may we fall from the outstretched branches of our parents gentle
and kiss the earth beneath their feet
with a wisdom from their heights,
lay beneath their shade
and write their stories on our breaths with the ink of the sun


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