My Daughter Telephones​



She speaks on the telephone.
The kiosk's yellow glow
soaks into night's black
sponge and detaches.



She is exempt now,
distant; even her voice
enters new realms,
creates new beginnings.

​

She has commenced
where I have almost ended.
The stars are opportunities
not too distant

​

clutched at and held.
The moon a fairytale
companion or whatever
each day desires.

​

She is a dancer,
poised, appropriate
to the new music;
she is the opening note

​

of a lyric suite,
the orchestra smooth,
expectant, a fanfare
soon to follow.

​

We watch her, a small
radiance unfold; tomorrow
an un-glimpsed grief away -
today, a certainty.