My husband tucks our baby into her bed:
a small, strange flower
a vivid, mysterious miracle.
I kneel, touch her hand,
watch, watch,
later weep,
rarely sleep.
I paint a wish for her later years into my prayers;
I bake my messages for her into sweet bread,
weave my dreams for her into long scarves.
Will it be enough
to carry her through full days,
send her into new spaces,
fly her into strange worlds?
Will my song, my gift,
follow her through earth and sky?
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