Slim. Long. Tender fingers skim the surface,
the caress sure, a lover's touch
trembling palms bring the portrait close
her lips touch his.
The edges worn,
the hands that hold the portrait treasure it as though it were made
this day
even with eyes closed, even when struck blind,
this portrait she recognizes-
every curve, every blemish, every contrast, etched deep in her
heart, her soul
His slow, steady walk, the thoughtful light in his eyes,
his smile that sparkled, and burned like the sun in mid afternoon
melting her heart to stone
sinking into the worn floor, she crushes his memory in an
overpowering embrace
keep him close as she can
He, gone with the moody seasons.
She has held him this close through a thousand lives,
cherished him in dreams sweeter than ice cream,
trembled at the memory of his gentleness, his being-
him being her eyes, ears, hands, and feet
the world through his eyes
He loved, she loved.
he cried, kissed his tears away
together they laughed and found communion
From the divine, theirs was a love gifted from the heart of the
divine.
The Portrait she holds crushed into her skin
Alive, or dead,
Near, Far
The center of all her being
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem