For Evie, when she holds my hand.
Arriving, we expand from the car.
And I wait while you collect your stuff, the unfathomable bits of personified fluff that you have trapped in your orbit:
Soft toys; knitted ropes; lipper; crumpled notes.
The accretion disk of your formation.
I, your natural philosopher.
You, the copper star.
I walk beside you with my hand trailing.
Not reaching for yours but not buried in a pocket.
Not clenched but terrifyingly open to the vacuum of your space.
Wandering. If your small hand will…
Empiricism, prayer, both wait upon results
With a heart flutter of longing,
Addressing ourselves to God in hypothesis, experiment,
And fear of failing.
Unconscious as breath, your hand whispers into mine.
This constellation of love I call daughter,
Having astrological power,
To turn man—not into wolf—into a gambolling puppy;
A great blazing spiritual comet tail wagging behind me.
To turn the matter of man into this father.
Your innocent gravity’s happiest prisoner.
Your celestial mechanic.
Your Dad.
Remember who loves you today.
This my child’s blessing for my child’s blessing.