a quiet communication

sometimes

there is nothing

    more

than silence between us

(or the soft white humming

   of a forgotten television)

  

I sit with my

   dinner, next to

him, with the daily paper

   resting

      haphazard on his lap.

he is a man of

          so few words

& the stillness here

   is absolute. but,

it’s not uncomfortable,

              only quiet.

we are content

  to sit like this because

my Father

      sees in my eyes

  the same dreams

that once shined in his

& because he speaks

  that same

muted,

 but hopeful language,

he understands all the things

   I’ve written

into every single

pause.

so,  when he looks up

from the black & white

     woes of the world

& spreads his smile towards me,

            I hear his pride & his Love

without a single sound.