Legacy {a poem}

My son and daughter know.
I want them to remember me
when they see this light,
bruised blue-grey sky
against illuminated trees,
practically neon in summer,
exposed bare beauty in winter.
They spent their entire childhoods
with me practically yelling in the car,
sometimes pulling over
rather inconveniently.
By now, they are used to it
and even point it out first
sometimes, which secretly thrills me.
Also by now, we all know --
I know they know, and they know
I know they know, and so on --
that while I may be behind
on other worldly matters,
while I may leave little beyond
some poems and Matryoshka dolls,
a love of babies and baking
and swimming holes,
I hope they'll keep this:
Love of light, love and light --
these ask something of us.
That we stop and see. Look up.
Marvel and move towards beauty.
Love fiercely and open our hands
and not look away.
If this were to be my only legacy,
that one thing that drops
through the generations -- jewels
draped around the neck of heaven --
it will be as if they carry my kiss
on their cheeks,
my hand on their shoulders,
and my voice in their ears
whispering,
I'm right here. Don't be afraid.