![](../bits/pline.gif)
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.
![Cover](../bits/cover.gif) ![Previous Poem](../bits/prior.gif) ![Next Poem](../bits/next.gif)
![](../bits/pline.gif)
|