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I fathom that it has not been but a few courses of the moon’s embrace
And here her smile dollies an impression that only the child can taste
I’m staring at a picture of what can be
Eyes that transform themselves into eternal attachments
A legacy of a mother’s love being defined and cultured
Matured
Nourished
He pounds this breath into her’s
And takes into life this love
A picture of what can be
And I
The outsider
Peeking in a captured moment long since relieved
Long since revisited
So many streams away
A road or 20
Beyond the places that my mind’s eye has been allowed to see
On this side of dreams at least
Their moment
Their attachment
Cropped and color balanced I can hear the breath of love
Attached
Matured
A love that goes further than the situations depicted
And not as far as the eyelids closed
These two invited me in towards their moment enveloped
Surrounded by love that withers not
But reflects an embrace only felt by a son
And I stare
I stare and wonder about my own attachments
Things that pictures glimpse but allude to only a second captured
I cannot fathom their love more than my own
Here in my moment watching from a distance
There in their space touching love that’s not distant
I’m holding a picture of a moment so precious
So pure
So embracing
And yet I’m just the audience in past tense
Noting how picturesque the love of a mother and son can be.

View the Picture that Framed This Piece

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