is a sloppy kiss
on the smooth of my
forehead
that I am all too
quick
to wipe away;
is a strong hand
reaching out
to brush the dust
from my skin
when I have sat too
still;
is a licked finger
smearing
across my chin
to eliminate the
dirt;
is a friendly voice
blasting through
the din of a mocking
crowd
with truth;
is a trail of
footprints
stretching ahead
deep troughs in the
sand
like inverted
stepping stones;
is the first bite of
dinner
that fills my tank
and sends me out
to jump in the
puddles;
is a letter
in permanent ink
folded in my pocket
until the creases
crack;
is the warmth of fire
on frostbitten
fingers
and lashes frozen
by tears;
is the spread of a
map
leading
always in the right
direction
rarely by the
shortest route;
is the place
I rest
and take time
to breathe.
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