Debris

Would that I could hold you . . .
my small ones . . .
in the cup of my hand . . .
wrapped in the permanency of love and tenderness
as if carved in rock . . .
 
Would that you were angels all . . .
my little ones . . .
scattered like jewels
over the face of the sky . . .
but in truth
your momentary brilliance . . .  
a shooting star . . .
no more . . .
 
the inconvenience of purity
and the insignificance of you
. . . your naked namelessness . . .
have become flotsam . . .
ferried without effort
on dissolute currents
 
I will not allow
the debris of your life
to slip through my hands
my tiny ones . . .
your discarded hearts
will know the joy of cherishment
for I love you with a love so deep and so true
that your names . . .
my beloved ones . . .
will be forever on my lips