One of a Series
My daughter sees the sky from another angle, slate-blue reflected in a
lake called living.
She is the wood duck gliding swiftly across water. The soundtrack,
Chopin, 16 variations of a lullaby:
The moon now has risen, the dogs are asleep
How the sky loves, lows to frame long-stemmed lilies, the sway of
white flowers, decoy clouds in their watery beds. We bones,
my father, specks of fish scales, choirs up from weeds. To elegize is to
make a miniature sky under which dragonflies dart and sew bits of
bright on a lake’s edge, a light box to hold the dead and the living, the
breathing and the breathless. This viewing chamber, ad infinitum.
