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Baptism
by Bill Vernon

As if with anointed fingers
sketching a cross,
blessing an innocent brow,

you have touched
the kitchen wall, this piece
of your parents' old set of china,
these towels hot from the dryer,
all the whatnots in our home.

The things we own gleam
with the oil of your regard.
The very air I breathe

smells sweet having
filled your lungs.
This yellow plastic cup
draws my lips because
it quenched your thirst.

Copyright 2008 by Bill Vernon