Living With the Disappeared

	Each of their syllables
	floats into the ether
	leaving  memories
	of little talks,
	of things not said,
	until the letters 
	separate away.
	mother to other
	              drifting away
	                        other, other-
	                               “Momi, donde esta?”
	Father ather
	       falling further down
	                    at her, at her-
	                            “Papi, quien eres tu?”
	They didn’t fall.
	              They were thrown
	to leave me
	           without words,
	                        to make me soar.