4 August 2007/24 August 2007/9 September 2007

Alexander, as

your face seems molded

by an artist's palm (your

eyes created to lower, coyly

against all unworthy targets) how

privileged I feel to hold

the softness of your hand

(to taste the salt of your lip

after sea air has utterly tousled

our quiet words)

I imagine I feel Right beside you

(though I have been wrong before)

carrying your charms

(and memories therein, a thousand

separate strands of time) as talisman

against the screaming wilds of

the great unknown of the present