hidden messages
 interlinking this new year:
 number seventeen
 (a haiku is born
 from small fingers, couch cuddles,
 and a champagne toast
 between lines of love,
 seventeen syllables sweet,
 family redefined)
 i promise to fight
 with the blood that raised me right
 long into the night
 it seems time to rhyme,
 to spin hope on one last dime,
 the beat so sublime
 seventeen heartbeats
 make up twenty-seventeen
 till we get this back
 (this world we won
 –we fought so damn hard to win)
 and i will still fight
 i’ll start with five beats,
 sprinkle seven signs of hope,
 and haiku this year.

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