She remembers them, sometimes,
Unbidden.
Broad and sure,
Dry as wit
Or a northern wall,
Thinks of how that works -
No cement, just the absolute
precision of placement,
the weight of years
Of doing it right.
Balance is everything.
Nothing in nature will topple
Such certainty
But accident
And the acts of vandals
Impossible to tell,
in the morning,
Which is which.
She remembers strength
And gentleness
Patience with her tracing
The crowded map of lines
And their speed
When called to action.
Those hands have
Mended and healed
Bruised and bled
On both sides.
The heartline is heavy
The head strong,
Decisiveness made flesh.
When all else is faded,
She will know his voice,
Those hands,
The histories they hold,
As well as she does her own;
Wonders, sometimes,
How close the copies grow.
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