Sorrow is a Lighthouse

-- for Tracy

because my Father lived his soul, love is the whole and more than all - ee cummings

He’s a large man, lightened by loss

I search for tethers holding him to chair.

One is pen, another paper, lots of figures;

there’s safety in numbers,  I suppose.

Now he’s tapping my shoulder, whispers,

 “Watch the humming bird.  It’s in those red flowers.”

Maybe bird, maybe beauty rouses his grief,

threatens to eclipse him, sinking in quicksand.

I am sinking too, when a soft light breaks,

the silver lining, his eyes.

I see how sorrow finds its lighthouse,

so beacons of love will wash the room.