To My New Born Child

We lived together,

you and I,

fed from tables

where I chose with

unaccustomed caution

wanting vibrance

on a spoon

or strength by glass,

certain of your

supping too.

Nights I willed

my possibles to you,

prayed whatever right

was in me

to be yours.

Mornings, meadowlarks

and yellow sun

I filtered consciously

through layered pores

to let you

in your silent darkness

sense your daily

birthright.

Afternoons I ran us both

beyond the edges

sometimes pressed

by wisdom and propriety,

extending every boundary

that jealous time imposed.

Through jagged months

we grew

as one.

Now with sudden

brazen cry

you’re shouting,

“I am one!”

And we are two,

you and I.

But one

as you may never know.