by Susan Musgrave
for Sophie
The day you were born the sun
thawed the tears on your father’s
face. We needed you, a flirt
of grace, your breath on our lips
like one long kiss. We could have spent
a lifetime together in that kiss. Today
you are twenty-six. You send me
a photo of your white wolf hunting
rabbits in the snow. Who says we can’t live
forever, lol? Everything we are
comes from the dying light of stars.
— from Juniper Volume 2, Issue 3