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…
