I remember you in phrases:

“Hey babes”
“My clever baby”
“Hello baba”

It's funny.
You never treated me like a child.

But yes,
I remember you in phrases
Because without them
Your voice disappears

And I'm not brave enough
To scale the crevice
Into which the song of you slips

So I hang on to the phrases
And play them over and over
Until the tape is grainy
And warped
And you, yourself
Become the nostalgic music we shared
On the patio,
On the big, broken bed
On the lawn bounded by oak trees

To these images I attach your phrases
Instead of Eine Kleine Nachtmusic or
Rocket Man or
Any of the other tunes that once sang,
“Dad” to me

You sing for yourself now.

I've made you a symphony.