Chardin Rabbits

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Glass bowl with pink swirls

Your glass bowl with pink swirls moves a little

whirlpool, still—reminds me of your last, small

desires—to dabble a hand in water,

playing the boundary notes of here and gone,

testing its uncertain surface for answers,

the beneath of which none of us knew.

To perceive the statue-blank of your eyes

seeing nothing and everything, to watch

the loop of your thin hand in its final

benediction, or to sit at your feet

with my hot cheek tilted to meet the roll

and stroke of soft fingers, was to be

most steady and most moved by your tender

figure-of-eight infinitive. That keepsake.

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