Christophere is a beautiful stone. Rounding by the day. We met one fateful afternoon in my yard, my native Oregon plants garden that is. He dreamed of roundness, of sphericality.
“Papa will I ever be round… papa?”
“Yes my sweet boy.” I uttered through my peanut butter lips.
Christosphere rolls better by the day.
Farther.
Straighter.
Rolling towards his dreams
