Icons of a well-weathered life

 

I have taken to brushing my cheek

Against the silky smoothness

My babies!

Of your first Christmas snapshots

 

I have taken to running my fingers

Through your brushed and shining hair

My first-born!

Staring back in glossy black and white

 

I have taken to sketching a picture

Of a boy bold and beautiful

My briefly-born!

Lingering in life like a subtle fragrance

 

I have taken to sliding my rough hands

Over the polished curved and joyous belly

My sibling!

Of the idol you invoked for my protection

 

I have taken to outlining with thumb

And index finger the sepia likenesses

Mother and father!

Of beloved beings who are no more

 

I have taken to touching my lips

To the sun-warmed petals

My love

Of faded roses redolent of your breath

 

I have taken to caressing familiar objects

Bearing the scent and imprint and warmth

My soul!

Of your slim and long-stemmed hands

 

I have taken to embracing and enfolding

In my arms all creatures past and present

My many loves!

Who having touched me let me rich and poor

 

I have taken to kissing and sniffing and touching

All the icons of a well-weathered life

My beloved ones!

Lest my faith begin to falter…