&the world was small
compared to that of
hearts and flowers

And poems were only
whispers among the trees
that you weaved with
your frail
F I N G E R T I P S

You are the bright
light against pale
paint, the tiny curve
in the corners of
a smile--
the quiet
S
H
A
D
O
W
S
in the pages of a book

You are all the
beautiful things
--if ever eternally--
(so slightly your life flickered)
you are.

(2.22.15)