Poem For Antonio
It is time
to purge, to prune
yellowing leaves from aging spines,
to lift weight from bending shelves.
I begin the process,
one in piles.
Your soft voice is released from its resting place,
when I touch the slim book of poetry
you wrote so many years ago.
I turn the pages to see
your smiling face,
your arms raised in the dance
of Carnaval.
The music, the memories encircle me,
The books will stay on the shelves for now.
My work today is to read your poems
and remember.
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