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In summertime dampness like a thief
Finds its way into the pores of old wood
And takes the past
To make a gift of it

To the present

This is not a noble gesture
But a thing that happens.

For me it is a happy accident.

It takes from the ruins of my inheritance
The fragrance of wood fires and coal
The distant scent of Christmas--
Wrapping paper and turkey grease
Pumpkin pies and apple--
My grandmother's ruby red lipstick,
The press of her kiss on my cheek
That said

I am glad you are here now.

The press of her kiss on my cheek
That said

I love you, child.

In summertime dampness like a thief
Takes from the ruins of my inheritance
The boxwood incense of nights that

Seem never to end

But are gone in the blink of an eye

I breathe in the bounty
Of summertime dampness
Sit with my grandfather over breakfast
One more time
And wonder when
My grandmother will awake
And join us.

I never quite know what to say.
We are quiet together.

I breathe.
I dream.
I blink

And it's over.