Sepia

Years from now, this moment
will be no more than a tea-stained
photograph of you in my arms
overcome with the molasses abandon
of sleep, your mouth a vowel
too soft even to kiss. When you
look back at this picture, at my tender
uncertain glance, my timid smile
as I hold you out for the camera
like a water lily spread open
on my palms, remember
even then I was learning
to hold you loosely.