Len Kuntz Osito
for Katherine Osito, yes, it’s true, you are small, so curious, stuck in wide-eyed wonder with open arms and mitts, but Osito, your voice is a strength, is a sonnet, is a strong wind the trees lean into in order to hear your story, the one about the woman who lost a boy, though on some evenings, like this one, he still comes round, a jangle of joy, his ghost wearing that familiar grin, playing his strings, sweet music only the night can gather.
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