Those who have shared
Many passing years
Often bear a close resemblance,
It’s said.
I see its proof,
Sifting through my parents’ generation,
Rapport sculpted on cheeks,
A story told
Like two pages of one book,
As though emotions shared
Are stored in the rising, dipping
Landscape of muscle.
My face may rise in tandem,
Might play the slow duet
Into the years.
It may carve its own path,
Like chiselled ivory in the moon’s light.
There are mountains and valleys
In my face.
