Fingerprints on the Wall

Now I just let the fingerprints sit on the wall
They don't disturb me at all

In the months after we moved in, I had a wet rag at the ready
To fall upon any dirt that should defile that good and creamy white, to defile its light, and
To do away with any dread that I was failing or that we were falling into some early state of disrepair
Ever vigilant, in that vigilance that teeters towards despair

Now
I pass them at ten pm, to climb the stairs
Or I walk by them at noon, to get the mail
And see that oily patina
Which has become holy, in its way:
Touched by three children, as they face the day
Meant, as they are, to leave their mark upon it all
(And why should my wall escape unharmed?)

So I resolve to only see this holiness
Will see it only as a marking of time, as the walls have grown ever so slightly closer to me
As if seeking some message to speak to me

Would that those three would grow as slowly
Before they go

Though it is holy, too
The letting go