My father in a beam of sunlight from the kitchen window,
the rest of the room a dim background; hands extended,
bending down to his granddaughter, minute particles of dust
glistening around them.
Vermeer-like: an intimate moment made still and lasting in
a slant of light, a gentleness isolated from the moving world;
a glimpse to slow the pulse, stop at the pool of a mind,
contemplate the heart.
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