my fingertips would trace your forehead's peak,
your eyebrows' line, your nose, your lips, your cheek--
such contours I would surely recognize;
In darkness I could reconstruct your face
from memory, a likeness true and sure
as any sculptor's skill. I could endure,
almost, the long blind years, with this one grace.
There yet may come a time you turn away
from me, my love, and never more bestow
your sparkling glance on me, your smile, your kiss.
Abandoned in the pall of that black day,
I'll build your shadow in my sightlessness,
And thank my vanished stars I studied so.
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