To the dock at midnight,
solitary moonlight path upon the bay,
to worship, to tread, star touching, that being
The plan.

Disrobed, it seemed apropos,
Totally out of character, ashamed,
Pressed my body into the black sky suede,
Words, of my issue, but not my styling,
Broke apart, watched each letter uprising.

Stars and moon conference-called,
Their judgement:
Coat the boy's words with the fragrance of
humility,
We are not super-centric, sun-greedy,
We are easy satisfied,
A simple haiku will suffice.

Five seven five once.
Fragility, Frailty.
Do it well, our son.

1:10 AM Monday Morning