Light pours through me like water
as my fingertips reach for the right words,
grasping for language,
inherently inadequate to express
the depth and breadth of love
a father feels for his daughter,
estranged by death.
Light, the glittering ephemeral,
glint of sunshine,
there for just a moment
as I try to cup it in my hands
and mold it into a phrase
to help the living
understand how the spirits they love
speak through a lightbulb’s flicker, a melody,
or the kind word of a stranger.
Spirit speaks
through metaphor, animals, dreams,
scents, weather, music;
If only we can listen with our eyes and our hands,
we will feel the refrain of love.