accept

as the night
grew still
and the dreamy voices
set in

and i could feel him
slowly slip away

he willed himself
to clarity
to tell me
most tenderly

about my creativity

he told me
he liked to see
my pictures

(not the selfies)

he liked
what my eye saw
and what my photos
told

in mid-darkness

i knew
there was truth
in his whispers

because the last thing
you say
before you turn out
your light

is the thought
that separates you
from your convictions

and even obstetricians
long for
the sleep of a child

meek and mild
and accepting
of all things good

(could)