She swims inside fingerprints,
an idea so distinctly you.
A mirage reflected between hot streets
and flattering moonlight.
She is the dancer in my wooden box,
guardian of secrets
whispering her own;
I would be lying if I didn’t say
you haunt me from her eyes.
A memory of water in my desert.
Just an illusion of your fingers
tracing the life line in right palm.
She blends ribbons of perfume through the air
and insists she invented this for our pleasure,
but we both know better.
“Daughter” is previously published in The Fall of a Sparrow (2014).