Daughter

Holding shafts of sunlight
you once fashioned into rods

tasting the tinctured tears
you kept in blue glass bottles

excavating the mysteries
of your thoughtful quiet time

finding new ways to see you
among your jars and shadows

picking up each brittle leaf
to read in unsteady breaths

letting her tea grow cold
she shall stand there too

and meet you in a new place
where grief can finally
sigh and cry and laugh.