You disappear,
one day at a time,
like the fainting trail
of a shooting star,
and you look at me,
like the cold sky after
a firework show.

My dear,
why do you float away
like a drifting balloon
to a faraway land,
so deep,

and glaze at me
with blank eyes
like the empty television screen;

becoming just another soul,
I cannot meet?

Your lips move,
like the fluttering wing
of a butterfly,
but they part to
babble new syllables,
only you understand,

and we teach you
the colours of a rainbow,
the names of fruits,
or fishes,
knowing they don't matter,
for our voices are
simply words,
spoken underwater,
and our faces become
the edges of a cloud,
or the faded ink
of an old newspaper.

You live in a fishbowl,
where you bob along,
like a sail in a
quiet river,
and once in a while,
you wonder how the windows
shut themselves,
or why the kettle whistled
when nothing was boiling in it.
You told me then,
it's strange,
how funny this world is.

I remember,
my mother kissing
your forehead,
your skin like wax,
as white as bone;
and you ask
in a voice
like the shuffle of a blanket,
if grandpa
will be coming home,
for dinner,
tonight.