the tiny giggle
of the hand that carelessly lets go
a moment of a horizon-less lifetime.
And she lifts her head
encoppered curly hair
framing the face
that uncle Chagall will want to possess on canvas,
Raphael will woo with the charm of a Reborn man,
Renoir will gently daub in moving light.
I take away the giggle
and delicately arrange a small place
for it to nestle off to sleep
among the most gentle, manly words
I can release from my heart.