In the morning you spoke
head bent serious, pondering
muttered words
not towards me or anyone
not that I could see
waiting was part of our day
like rolling off the pillow
mundane as resting ones wrist atop the bannister
those words slipped soundlessly past the wayward lock of straw gracing the top of your lenses
you would not move
did not falter
were not distracted by our coming
down the stairs
giggling, yawning
we each took pause
a sudden hush
reverence we would learn
and teach the younger
patience we practiced
and quiet
wait we must
for this conversation
words with our Father came before words with our father.