Dipped in darkest stain,
Upon my heart indelibly
You're printed and engraved.
―Boris Pasternak
An icy filigree—
A sliver tracery
Brief and fleeting
As a phantom
In a glass.
It’s apparent
In sunlit glaze
Nothing stays…
Not so my art
that paints
Your face
With lines
From children
Lines from me
And engraves
Your mystery
In poetry.