to grieve is to know love intimately.

to pluck his voice from a crowd,
though I've not heard it in years.
to reminisce about my fingertips
reading his calloused hands like braille
and finding my next breath in every tactile.

to recognize any morsel of his being
in any dimension
and pledging patience to the search
in every lifetime.
to finding him.
and knowing he is ever present.

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