You few.

You generous few
who hide not your faces,
who release smiles into the wild
as if it were perfectly natural
not to worry for their safety
in the measuring eyes of the jaded

You brazen few
who will not slink into shadow,
as if that were even possible
in a vainglorious age where
every motion is trumpeted in
a cluttered public square 

You daring few
who fear not the sight
of your unveiled expression,
who willingly pronounce testimony
of celebration and occasion and fellowship:
such delicious manifest monuments

You lucky few
whose courage is evident
in ranks and files of illustration,
in vistas and visages preserved
for days when imagination and
memory fail to recall their sweetness unaided

You blessed few
unshackled by aspiration,
thwarted by inflexible nature
and her disdainful borders -
such shocking willingness to embrace
authenticity that some will call imperfection

You startling few
create an astonishing legacy
not merely for sunset remembrance,
but also for those whose pardon you will
eventually beg to take your leave
when the gleam has fled your eyes.

You generous few
whose legacy will grin and wink on
when lips and lids are closed and still,
when silence draws a shroud over too-pointy noses
and too-broad mouths and too-small eyes -
all the more beautiful when resigned, alas, to mere film.