I remember your shoulder
Soft and loose
In what world
Could such a delicate curve
Hoist the vast towers of your thoughts
But just as Atlas carries the world
They do
For your form is divine
Carved from ductile birch
And spry as an adolescent doe
Your armor is the colors of memories
Faded into you like paint into parchment
Language and nature
Pure, as if from the ancient times
Becomes your scales
Shimmering textures in the sun
They mean the most to you
For no outsiders
Will ever see the dimension
To the artwork you have become

~Galwyn

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