My words are used
back upon me
by my daughter as ivy,
with roots that spread
quickly over a life
bathed in light.

She speaks in waves
fresh as a breeze
through the curtains
blowing gently over
an open window.

My errors stand
blank as foundations,
that morph into augury,
I must keep going, being

anything but detached,
although I fear
to disturb the truth
that lay in her.

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