Poem: Little Moon, Little Sun

Short fingers crafted
of my light, mysterious
generation of cells.

Winking present like fireflies
rising from the ground,
the trees, in cool summer’s night.

Her lengthening body sings
daffodil’s virile bounce
out of winter.

Absorbing light, shines
through her,    back
to me.          echo words

I say to her, “Okay?”
after every instruction then
becomes her toddler mantra.

We are reflection,
mirrors, yet vessels;

She understands her hands
drawing with a goldenrod
crayon like a seed focuses

sprouting from its husk.
Generating her own light.