Visitation
My daughter
comes into our new house
on waves of music we listened to together
in our difficult island life.
The sun is crisp, Canadian air sweeps in.
I ask her what she thinks.
She only shakes her head.
I feels she's
about to speak
but words are lost in transit
somewhere between impact
and that last breath,
the last sound no one
but she has heard.
I strain
to hear her voice,
my own ears damned with tears.
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