its the smile and the way his
head tips up, resting on the palm
of his hand, that reveals my
father to me in that moment. his
fingers, cradle a pencil that is
rapping back and forth, end to 
end, on the table beside his 
laptop. i see in him my father's 
far off focused gaze, listening
to the teacher whenever the siren
song of his imagination relents.

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