The ReleaseIn those last moments beforethe platter of salt and dirtlay on his stomach, wax-lighthad waved across a mute heart, his son waited by the bed.Raised to believe the soul leftthe body with its last breath,he listened for death's rattle,then pressed his lips like a kissto his father's lips, and tookinto his mouth the breath that had given him breath, a lifedistilled to one stir of airsoft as moth wings against palms,held a moment, then let go.
-Ron Rash
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