My sisters and I, we play this game,
"best free feelings" is the name.

Scissors gliding effortlessly through paper,
Lying on a pile of clothes fresh out the dryer.

A cool breeze and the first hint of fall,
The freshly sharpened tip of a pencil that was dull.

It's recognizing the small things that add up, but go unspoken.
It opens up your heart; to the game you're beholden.

It's you, Papa, mowing the grass you just mowed yesterday.
It's your effervescent laugh when you and Lennon play.

The first smell of a cigarette being lit,...