For Beatrix, a picture

I have no advice for you,
nor can I give you images
because they belong to you
and are yours to give,
even though we take them
and store them to give them
present meaning.

You’ll decide how to picture this
and piece it from almost familiar angles,
in the home you grew aware in
in the stories your brother tells 
in the rhythm of your mother’s breath
or your father’s fear for others.

He has no fear for you
though he knows 
fear sometimes will find you
and its echo, though faint, 
will wake you.

You are forever safe inside this tableau;
the friends arranged, the broken bread,
the wine, the water and the touch of hands
to hands which form a line
to no mythical omnipotent force
more special, than the miracle of you
and the people in this picture who love you.