I was sitting on the couch.
My father was playing his new guitar,
a new song he had written.
It was beautiful,
but ragged.
His hands don't work the same way they used too.
But then -
his eyes closed,
and his head bowed.
Something he had written before
came creeping out -
The air became soft
and his face held no strain.
I had my father back,
but for a moment.
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