you were never asleep,

I saw your finger in motion,

hesitantly carving an image

of a dark-brown girl with yellow teeth

and a dandelion head

on the crisp, spooky white sheets

at the hospital.

You bellied-up with this tiny fairy 

in the canvas,

who opened her eyes 

when you closed yours.

(beyond the veil is more than an idiom

when you can't poke through 

or crush it with your hands.)

Now I know.

I flipped the pages,

marked the variances: the hieroglyphical names, 

the unknown numbers, 

the half-erased addresses,

in this daddy’s little silent cracker,

they call a phone directory.

Soon I found some traces of the fairyland 

where you live with your candy-pink doll,

drawing image of the one who lives

down the memory lane.