A Lesson

My daughter does not care
for me speaking of her as dead.
But her admonishments are gentle.
We speak to each other in new ways,
though I still lumber along
on halting steps and brood
like an ancient earth-worn man.
She is light
just beyond touch.
She caresses my head
with an imperceptible pale yellow
refraction of sun.

I speak to her often.
She replies in a language
without sound. I listen
and begin to learn
of love,
and its silence.