For. . .

This is for the beautiful in my life.

Not you, per se, whose footsteps have worn trails

with all your comings and goings,

all your wanderings

in and out and around my heart.

Nor you, exactly, the one lost

in the fog of time

with the voice that occasionally echoes

a distant, far off Polo

when I cry Marco because sometimes

I just want to reach out and touch you,

just for a passing thought.

It is for you.

You, and you.

But for so many more now too

with their stunning smiles

and bright sparks

and cascading laughter

like water lapping merrily on the shore.

This is for you,

because I am quiet. Shy.

Because honest kindness

drives more people from our lives

than sharp tongues and sly wit

and I learned to fear.

This is for you,

because you are beautiful

and you should know.