I know you’ve crossed
some border when you cannot
say my name, but only smile
and squeeze my hand.

It will be just the two of us—
daughter and father—to get you
through the night—and the nurse
who smells of roses and knows how

to use morphine to gently bring
you to a sleep so deep I, too,
sleep, realizing in the morning,
you’ve left me here. Still

I’ve learned from the laws
of physics that matter is not
lost in this world, so you
have only changed form:

this is the fate of all of us.
And as I walk out into
a perfect June day, your
favorite month, I am visited

by an image of you on your knees
patiently teaching me the art of a bow knot—
the magic that will keep me
in my shoes as well as on my feet.