An Ode

If your face did not carry
the smile of water
I could have said;
feel the trace of
the summer rain.

If your eyes did not
carry the ocean
I could have said:
ask the forlorn shore.

If your hands did not
paint the setting dusk
I could have said:
ask the raining clouds.

That when you are with me
I am alive
and all my thoughts sail to you.
And if someday I lose you
to the wind,
to the sands of time,
I just as well could be
the hands of that memory-less desert.