Summer 1985 • Vol. VII No. 3 A Gathering of Poems |

Recalling a Conversation with My Daughter

When the dark wind blows over rooftops and the song of snow whispers in its most secret breaths that we are all dying, I think of you, child, dying.   We talked once of it, how all things give up their breaths, one by one winding down into darkness, and you asked if we could hold our breath and live forever.   And I wanted to say yes, there are ways to hold the darkness at bay, to keep the cold from our bones, but already you were skipping through the sunlight,   singing a song that matched the beat of your heart to the pace of your breath to the rhythm of your joyful feet. And the dark minutes almost ceased to tick.

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