THE GRANDFATHER OF AN AUTISTIC CHILD SPEAKS -

The sky is in your mind
And we are clouds.
We hang around
The torn coast of your thoughts.

Shadows, we corner
The limits of your world.
Even our sunshine eyes
Always fail.

The music of your voice
Is a closed piano.
Your playing fingers
Walk the sudden air.

No clock or time can sing
Your being. A broken child,
You stand, so far
From reality.

The habit of your movements
Windmills a secret speech;
A screech is flung across
The ocean of a room.

We could drown your soul
With our heartbreaking love,
Lay down the very stars
Beneath your feet.

You wake to the fragments
Of your time on Earth,
And you sleep in a grass
As deep as great God’s peace.

THE GRANDFATHER OF AN AUTISTIC CHILD SPEAKS