Deborah

When time and thought conjoin In the reflecting pool of memory Quite often there sign to me The shapes of butterflies I’ve known, Stamping their abstract signatures Upon the medallion of the moment, Piercing the inner eye like a wildflower And, like it, filling the heart With an incomprehensible sense Of perfection Too all-comprehensive to be borne Except in silence, And impossible to reduce to thought. My niece also Draws me into her orbit, Signing the shape Of years to come In her continual present, And my hopes for her Blend with memories Too long to promise that I’ll gaze At length upon her in her glory, But perhaps my part-time gaze May sign to her In some far forgotten future day, And wink, like a friendly, falling star, To tell her of my love.