Prosopagnosia

Night and day’s faces tied to the plainly hidden
Double helical wrapped Christmas morning gifts
Open up like halos when street lamps first kick in

My memories of them trapped in an hourglass
They sink away within the insides of ocean sand
Their visages blur like anxious breath at candlemas

Some were contorted from being overworked
Some stretched too thin, some too serious
Some with too much sun, most unremarked

Faces belong to presidents and Tik Tok stars
Courtyards to the keepers of 7 of the 9 gates
Prisons for souls pressed up too close to the bars

I remember personalities and sounds, sadness,
And laughter and the way I think about history
That’s tied to a kite through waves of blackness

I saw auras and how they felt, faces not so much
And how my Mom’s wings came out when I cried
I recollect her scent like splattered tangerine guts

But mostly I remember

Your touch.