(for mom)
She keeps leaping
and the sun sets on her silhouette.
In the dark I can hear her heart beating
her throat breathing
her legs leaping
as she dances her way to the moon.
She starts to sing
with a pink and periwinkle voice
about a bee bouncing 'round from tree to tree.
She is not shy in the dark.
She is not scared
of what her daddy thinks of her.
Mom looks down
from her treeless mountain in the clouds
and smiles a living smile at her baby.
And her baby's baby.
And I am bookended
by two soft-as-sunlight lilies.
Her silly dance
is a six-year-old's translation of your rocking arms.
Her busy song is your noiseless lullaby.
I see you both in the dark.
And I am not scared
of what you think of me.
