Half of the Beginning

Not long ago,
a child knelt down
at the knee of her father

not with reverence,
something more...

like a moth settling
upon un-natural light

or the way
the moon clings
to divinity more tightly

than the rafters
of its sky.

What is a father?

Half of the beginning,
a guiding bell, the sound
of which leads us

to higher grounds,
a tree whose leaves

remind us of ourselves.

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