A gray hair in his whiskers,
a sudden sign of fallibility in my Herculean
hero of a man

A man who doesn’t fall or recede

who only
pushes forth, pushes forth

like time, like water through the rocks

Will he age?
Will he pull back like the tides
telling me that nightfall is arriving soon,
that the sun will no longer be
upon my shoulder?

Will he become just a man?

No. He will push forth, push forth
until there are no more rocks to
break through

until he floods into the plains
and valleys, washing the world in
the spirit of things
that can’t quite be harnessed

Come with me, he will say.
Come with me and defy these ideas
of walls and gravity and
alarm-clock hearts.

Come with me and push forth into
the impossible.

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