Balm

Into these liquid eyes rivers of light
once carried oarsmen on gilded barges,
kings processing down rush lined waterways
masons toiling with mallet and chisel,
peacocks fattening in palace courtyards.

So much, so much, and more - but wait: for now
my woman comes with clean tunics and balms
to moisten my skin. For I am precious.
Why else would my image have been captured?

I couldn’t know such painting would fix me
in limbo, as a conduit for light
to flow through my wide brown eyes into yours.
My secret artist resides in heaven.
Still, I have time and my balm. I can wait.