the only time i felt:
this is my father and we are intertwined
happened on the coast of Oregon
soy lattes in hand and the words of Pink Floyd
filling up spaces no one knew needed filling
'we're just two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl,
year after year'
pulled into a parking lot, silent and wet
wet and silent with bloodline both
tangible and faraway.
we drove on through fog
sewn together irrefutably
if only for that song.