Still here,
beating.
I stand over the girl from my past.
My shadow is a mass, but I am Liberty,
in her stance,
in her strength,
in the sunlight.
Twice struck,
second one has stuck
in deep,
enough to blur the world around me-
around him.
Never mind the darker hours
(they aren’t important);
what is crucial, is the breath in my lungs.
The fourth poem in my annual series of poems I write for my birthday.
