He sleeps in the crook of my arm like a gosling


December_2009_Blizzard_Streetlight_through_snow_and_trees_7_soul-ampHe sleeps in the crook of my arm like a gosling
tucked inside a milk-white wing,
like the snow falling outside on trees and branches
and the moon full above a cloud smudged sky
in a peace so deep underneath translucent eyelids,
abalone nails clutching my breast
in the night that is so bright from the
reflection of starlight off the slumbering ground
a light illuminating the web of tree fingers
covered in silver, diamond frost.
The tenderness of it all strikes me again,
a thousand times, a bayonet skewer of
hopes and emotion like a switchblade
through my lungs, only too strong
for real words and the enormity of it all
wrapped tight beside me in this tiny being.
I think of stars and collisions and planets
forming out of dust, congealing to make
and make and make, over and over
and the rightness of it all and it’s ending
and reforming and lighting across the
dark into ten billion things, enormous
and fragile as a rain drop frozen in the snow bank,
clutching to life and to life and to Life,
the rolling tide, ample and boundless,
and infinitely minuscule.
Every night, I experience the Universe in a single touch
We are, breathing together, in one breath,
feather lashes touching in the dark,
like the first light in the void, and the snow
outside, the first stars, and I am altered
beyond measurement at the beauty of creation
and the unexplained nature of the indomitable will to Be

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