the first thing
that I noticed
was the child's beauty.

then again,
I realized how
I can judge a book
by its binding.

the linking of
these bony fingers,
while the back
of my mind
rests in the palm
of my hands.
a sign
of my threadbare body,
barely old      barely able.

there she was,
waving her habitual bliss
like a carrot
on the end of a stick.

while a silent psalm
surrounds a starry angel's glow.