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In moments most mundane and calm,
I brush palms with our future selves,
older, softer, slower,
smiling secretly to each other.
It confounds my vanity to see them wearing
clothes that are comfortable and forgiving;
habits have crept into their bones
and twisted them into peculiar shapes --
bodyscapes beloved by dimming eyes
The familiar, trustworthy rhythm of
housework and rest
is the comforting heartbeat rocking gently
beneath your nightshirt pressed
below my ear
Our children will make up for fewer mistakes
than we were able to forgive ourselves for,
steady heart
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