even here your thin voice reaches me


thin golden thread is spun
carrying concerns
daughter to mother
the vigil set
candle lit
your father this time
weak and needy?
perhaps a son with broken heart?
an old man fearing his departure?
o remember
the symbol of folding hands
is a bow between humans’
recognition of the divine
in human form
gossamer the thread
with unbreakable strength
enough to bring you home
when, daughter,
you are ready