For the dverse prompt—heredity.
Looking from mirror to you,
leafing through photo albums
looking from you to them
and the way the dead laughed,
I wonder at all those ancients,
whose faces left no image,
with their wild hair and their gold torcs,
who gazed in awe at the standing stones of Inishowen
and how I would have known them in a thousand,
from the way they laughed,
lop-sided and silent.