subtext

My words return as wisps,

            partial and inchoate,

                        unnoticed as leaves’

                                    quick laughter

            leaping lightly in the wind

                        from branch to branch

                                    above young lovers’ heads.

I am an echo

            of myself,

a last aspirated syllable

            to falter without flourish

like my father’s final words:

short of breath,

            longing to be heard.