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.

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2020 Pandemic Journey Day 44

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What the Muses Leave Behind

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