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Portraiture
 Hear
the poem
Something in a hospital
So concentrates a face
Not pain or worry or relief
Alone
But gravity of ripeness:
The touches of a word or hand
Assume their birthright buoyancy
In knowledge of the ends of breath
And seasoned kindness
Draws from our visages their history
With every brushstroke we betray ourselves:
What features strange, resourceful and unscaled
Emerge as tutors to the unshuttered eye
Along the stations of its ministry
And how the cloaked and hooded soul is bared
Anew!
- Emanuel E. Garcia
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