Later

Raymond Luczak

Your voice translated me,

a lucid memory.

You videotaped my hands, words.

Now that’s all gone to the birds.

What led you to sign, to grasp?

Your fluency made me gasp.

You turned deaf to others sneering.

Your ears were so used to hearing.

Translate me one more time.

I loved how we could rhyme.

Death’s a cruel interpreter:

Nothing translates for later.