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.
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