Shaped

It’s hard to let go of a part of who you are.
I have been shaped by you;
moulded, blasted, hammered,
repurposed to someone quite new.

All it takes is a touch;
feather-light & aching.
You view me through a dark glass
or a small opening.

Never the full panorama,
it would be too much to behold;
kids told not to stare at the sun
for fear of catching cold.

A part of me will leave with you,
like a fire left to burn out.
Can ashes be relit?
Yours to wonder & mine to doubt