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.