Blink.

Eyes newborn and blameless,
that pretty-baby blue of
almost summer after-the-rain skies
that make you swear everything's the same
only better,
brighter, cleaner.
She is the beginning of a life.

Blink.

Baby skeleton reaching
infant hands to infant toes,
gurgling, stretching out to
redefine her outline, bind her up
in lines she's too young to understand
as she grows into a world where
innocence and sacred never go together.
She is beautiful incompetence.

Blink.

Fingers lengthening, Strengthening
to touch my face so softly that
even as she cries, I smile;
corner crawling carpet handprints
stalk her shadow as she blends them into
a white field all her own,
simple syllables rebounding from
lips and hips and shoulder blades
as she explores these mortal vices.
She is open and aware and amazement.

Blink.

She curls with sleep between her ribs,
giggles wound around the teeth
still buried in her bones,
heavy lidded lethargy washing her away
into seas of sweet dreams I hold for her
inside my self and pool into my arms,
holding her away from insecurity.
She is anything extraordinary.

Blink.

She is barely here and already slipping away.