Mira and Owen

 

If they cannot be together on this plane we call life,

let them sit side by side in my room with golden walls,

the room where I sit so often.

Let Mira look over at his tiny feet, and how his father cradles him in his arms -

as Owen looks over at her, in her silly birthday hat, her chubby cheeks.

She is growing and giggling, spilling words out.

we hear everything that is said, and unsaid,

spoken, and in the wind.