Kyoto

for my dad

The stones that we left there are calling to me
Have they grown into boulders? Or rolled to the sea?

It’s a myth, oh father,
that we carry these stones
But the memory heals us,
so we’re no more alone

You show me the water splashed up on the stones
You bring out the beauty in Earth’s grey-green bones

It’s a myth, oh father,
that we carry these stones
But the memory heals us,
so we’re no more alone

So we’re no more alone

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