For Grandma and Grandpa

My father sits
eyes closed
under the amber
glow of the lamp.

He is breathing steadily.

I cannot tell
whether he is
sleeping
or resting,
pondering.

It is so quiet
I can almost hear
his thoughts.

There is a white light
weeping through the
fabric of drawn
curtains;

Eyes closed,
there is light
speckled at his
feet.

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