A wry smile glowed
on her creased skin
and a tear sprung from her fountain eyes
my grandmother sighed…
her hands caressing the skin on mine.
“Beautiful and young you are!”
ever so slowly…
gazing into the waning sun.
Her eyes lingered on the photograph of her youth
now as good as a reverie on our mantelpiece…
She was smiling at the lense
behind which stood
the very root of her happiness
“He was it …my dear” she whispered.
Her voice broke
Her hands trembled
but her smile glowed
than the waxing moon….
“So close…So close”
to the moth wings making lingering shadows in the candle light…
the flames reflecting in her deep eyes….
for a moment
I thought I saw myself fading into her.