Countless, the years,

to arrive at this cliff,

weathered, like your face;

steadfast against the breakers,

unyielding to the tides.

Once, I was the albatross,

poised for flight,

needing the wide Pacific sky.

You were the toe toe,

rooted in the rocks,

content with the Coastal breeze.

Now, here we stand;

a pair of aged sycamore,

feet planted a safe distant apart,

as memories fall like helicopter seeds,

by the rivers of our youth

Stone hands in our pockets,

we brace against the wind,

and blink back salty tears,

of impossibilities.

-KA Brown

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