I remember

A trail we rode bicycles upon
by the winding creek
the tall grasses - sharp blades

polliwogs and water spiders;
our faces, breaking reflections
in the stills - willful concentric circles:

as we poke the water while the current,
further on, carries on the work
of days - this one we take as ours,

slowly in the afternoon breeze
the blooms of blue flax looking skyward
and my daughter’s hair catching light -

Past summers whisper their orange
 shades in this winter’s candle-light;
my little girl, I remember.

-Santiago

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