On a teardrop leather backing
was riveted a noble Indian,
a gift from my father
and I had it for all of my twenties.
It folded over the keys just so
and kept them from scratching me,
took me to work with some
connection to the natural world
my father loved so much.
I don't remember when I lost it,
but it has been gone for decades.
I will give my sons something they will cherish
and then lose to the dust storm of time.
Today I feel my father in the wind,
his firm hand around my shoulder,
whispering
life gives life
and so is never lost.
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