Remember when a gun 

got found 

in a kid’s backpack

at our daughter’s 

elementary school.

As soon as she breathed

back home, I sped over

to feel her heartbeat

vibrate 

through my paternal palm. 

In a no-sleep dawn,

I hunted for sunrise fear

with my eyes as guns.

Down Telegraph’s sidewalk hello,

I needed to place a petal

into the loaded barrel

of my cerulean sight.

When I hunted for sunset joy

with my eyes as seeds,

I spotted a California Wild Rose 

blooming within our grass 

and concrete neighborhood.