January 13th

        Your hands held greatness in their profound palms so convolutedly intricate that they reminded one of the sketch lines of fine art.

        The universe was in your mouth, stars between your teeth and stuck to your tongue, and every word was a magnificent cloud of bright galactic matter amongst the inky blackness of the midnight hour.

        In your collarbones and imbibed deep in your skin, there lived a quiet dignity and an unblemished fondness for existing that swallowed any atoms of doubt in all the world.

        But, oh, it was always your eyes that held every season at the apices of their brilliance. Your irises were made of the pinks of spring, the golds of summer, the warm tones of fall, and the unadulterated white of an Eskimo winter.

        It was because of you that I've begun to notice all of the infinitesimal constituents of every part of every person, and so I've found a new appreciation for being present...

        ... even if you've stopped noticing.