Reverence

There is a palimpsest 
of crystalline promises
waiting on the highest shelf,

dust-cloaked mezzanine
built upon volumes
of tender letter and verse.

You are not
their beloved essence,
the exquisite chime and call
heard in each
remembered word.

You never held them
in your hands like I do,
their slender curve and warmth
pulsating on your skin

But I have saved them all,
the hopeful sketch and gleam

in the pristine gallery of indelible memory,
running my finger down
the weary leather spine

slips of future vision
twined with thread and stem

and threading myself
through a thousand hours
preserved in loose pages
and re-lived within a breath-

 

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