Out of the Dryer

He pulls himself away from the fire
he so expertly and proudly built,
and climbs on my back for bedtime.
"You feel like you just came out of the dryer,"
I tell him as the heat from the fire radiates
off of his eight year old self and through my shirt.
He smiles so big I feel more warmth emanate from
the essence of Prometheus' gift which is now his
to control and bestow as a language of daring and love.


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