dear dadu

you still exist. 

the fallen molecules of your

material body are still one 

with the intricate soil of the earth. 

you exist as the the shadows that show us

our own altruistic reflections,

and as the sun that shines on them. 

it is you that greets us in the morning

with a cool breeze on our face and

you, it is who evaporated from the rivers

only to find those faces again. 

you exist as these fumbling words that 

are poured out by my rambling mind 

and you exist as the poetry that 

i don’t yet call mine. 

time’s racing chariot will pass us by

old friend,

and that won’t be enough to stop you from

growing in the majestic roots of a tree,

or as the fruit that it bears or 

as the seed that the ones after us throw out

or as the tree that flourishes from that seed

and again and

again and 

again.