To my dad

The first earth I knew,
the map that drew my home,
you’re rock diamonds can’t be
you are clouds of a rainbow color
First man, big, Father.

licensed tree to yield,
fresh air in deep caves
I hold an ode in the night
to be a torch for the words I write.

only you can be womb and tomb
rain and tears, sunlight and dew.
only you can make a ring feel squared
so I box life to its very pieces
of pure poetry.

Ruddapoet