The twilight ahead me hid your face.
I saw my reflection in your place,
a burgeoning burden, future omen,
Cold War brewing each day.
I gifted distance as a grace.
I misread your response. Filled in the blanks
with the words I told others at your age,
but you are not the same.
Neither a broken branch nor a fallen seed,
you exist apart from me. I see shadows
I interpret as the battles
I fought at your age. I built walls to escape.
They grew between us through cracks left unfilled.
If I destroy them, will you build one of your own?
Blame it on the past that preceded your presence.
Blame it on the plague, but you are not sick.
Blame it on premonitions that I push you away,
but only I fulfill that prophecy. You are not the same.
I wipe the fog I mistook for a mirror
and see your face unblemished by my own.