I taught you how to blow
as though barely breathing,
your quiet prayer of breath
inspiring shape and motion
upon the face of soapy water.
The light bent through
those haloed bubbles, as though
they had been stained
like the windowed sanctuary
where we blew our praise.
Your innocence and wonder
are like those bubbles:
delicate,
fleeting, and,
as you would say
with all your child-like faith,
beautiful--your voice
full of excitement like the time
you told me I was in the Bible.
