Daughter

Maybe it was when no one was listening 

behind the storm, busy elsewhere for a while

now, and you had dried and held my hand

that the Spotted Pardalote broke clear. You saw

it before me. I remember the world: there was 

a thin track leading up from water, there was 

a cave; in my dream, sometimes there is snow. 

We said a little prayer for it out loud 

and felt it go.