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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