On a warm July day,
goldfinches sang,
peach-pink roses
opened gently in the breeze.
But he was wasted and worn,
no longer hearing the birds
or seeing the flowers.
His eyes were heavy,
his mind too clouded
to know the time of day.
Still, he held on—
through the pounding in his head,
through one more hour,
one more breath—
waiting for me
to return to his bedside
and whisper into his ear:
Father.
Then, as if released,
he let go
his final breath.
He had waited—
as though to leave one unshadowed day
between his last breath
and the day
I joined my life
to the other love
of my life.
無言的愛
七月天，暖意正濃，
金翅雀在婉轉啼唱，
粉桃色的玫瑰
在微風中悄然綻放。
可他已形銷骨立，
疲憊不堪，
再也聽不見鳥鳴，
也看不見花開。
他的眼皮沉重，
神思昏濁，
已分不清
此刻是何時。
可他仍撐著，
忍著頭中一陣陣劇痛——
再熬一個時辰，
再撐一口氣，
等著我回到床邊，
俯身在他耳旁
輕輕喚一聲：
爸爸。
他輕輕呼出了
最後一口氣。
彷彿一直在等，
讓他的最後一息
與我的結婚周年
隔著
仍然明亮的一天。
