Each scent

Each scent that I encounter

Finds its origin in you.

Each face, however dark or light,

Young or old, pockmarked or smooth,

Was first seen in your eyes.

Whatever weather --hot or cold,

Floods or freezing rain

First leaves your hands

Before it warms or chills me,

And each event --

The blessing, curse, or ordinary --

Finds its way into my life 

Having passed through your

Creative processes.

You paint the canvas on which I dance;

I am but one of many brushes

Carrying shape and color into your world.