Tracings

With lips and fingertips,
I trace the lines and contours
of your body
in my mind.

With scissors and knives,
I trace the moments of sunshine
gluing them in mosaics
of blue.

With turpentine and mineral spirits,
I trace the darkest memories
thinning them from
view.

With love and patience
I trace the hollow of my cup
Filling it with sunshine
and memories of new lines.

Some days hold too many
memories of old.
Now it’s time for new
tales to be told.

Photo by surasakiStock