No one is ever home
when I drop them off
but on this spring day
they run~
for their
father
waits
with arms spread
like sunshine
embraces them
lifts them
from the sidewalk
swings
them in a slow wide
circle
their legs
lifting outward
their faces
radiant
On the bus I hear
movement~
in the mirror
the remaining
riders
crowd the seats on that side
every face transfixed
every mouth
for once
silent
watching this rare thing
this wonder
a father
waiting
playing
a father
present
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