Whispering God's, day ago prayers,  
if I could only touch your face
without leaving fingerprints,      
for death is a naked shadow  
without layers of clothes,  
in old photographs,
from your body to my mind      
in life's curiosity and curios,
of our love's fancy serendipity  
when we laughed and cried,  
singing the alphabet, in the alpines,
now soft-spoken in a desk locket