“Breathe on me…”
She turns to pull a wet bowl off the dishrack. “Hands off,” I say in my nice voice.
“….breathe, oh breath of God…”
She gives me a glance, then takes one finger and pokes the bowl again.
“…breathe on me…”
Frustrated, I place her outside the kitchen, closing the sliding door between us. She bursts into tears.
“…‘til I love like you do…”
I open the door. She’s looking at me with that newly wet face. I kneel on the kitchen floor, arms open. She runs into them for a hug.