It was not so long ago that you walked in the mud,
tightening up your belt with an old hemp rope,
whistling your newest tune, as the swallows pondered.
Six summers have cooled since you last preserved
seasons of endless bounties in glass jars.
Then you could still enjoy the scents of your creations,
when the flame gently gave life to a great repast.
Soon again, I will risk another step into the halls
of a museum erected by your weary palms,
alone in a forest of icons, guarding my spirit
as for the first time, it is your soul I will meet.
Perhaps, warming near your old companion,
you hold hands in an eternity you possess.
Will you see me, as I enter your private realm,
recognize me, once the questioning child,
accept my presence near you within your wall?
Everyday the same query will surface on my lips,
seeking with my gaze for a sign of your love
on the seals, crannies, everything you once touched,
vulnerable, in the midst of the unknown.
It must in be in the comfort of ages that you make
a cocoon, to protect those who dare still to
love the ghosts of your missing embrace.