The Changeling

At dawn I looked with eyes wide open. The brown of his hair had snow-stormed to wintery grey crowded out to God knows where, to join a master work in perfect granite, the finite features raisined to roadways buckled into nose and cheek and brow. Somehow spared by nature's cruelty were steel blue eyes that walk my dreams and lips that taunt and tease. Where was I when all this happened? Here, a changeling, too, and robbed as well? Today when morning kissed my eyelids, I felt blessed it reached across to touch his, too.