of my
father, in black and white,
on a farm
in Nova Scotia,
holding his pet calf
on a leash.
Clara belle.
he's all of thirteen.
his hair
parted to the side,
golden
in the sunlight.
so much of life ahead
of him.
and now,
still here,
at ninety-five, there
it is.
the same smile, the same
glimmer
of life in his pale
blue eyes.
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