When you were young, spirits rose
from hollow arms, petals aligned
in rows, sundresses draped from
hips like windblown sails, lips
crested waves. When you were

young, mountains shifted along
fault lines, hellebores bloomed in
Lenten shade, lakes reflected
pines on glass — shadow-cast for
larks to mirror flight. When you

were young, innocence carved sin
as craftsmen shape oak — precise
blade against grain, pride-split,
salient — molded imperfection
from our Architect. When

you were young, paths cleared like
memories, stillborn to love that
swelled blue in your veins, a
snapshot of shutters swung shut,
eyes forlorned to frame a stare.