Your hold on the earth
is so much less tenuous now

I have sus­tained you with my body
amazing thought
your mouth to my breast
eyes locked with mine
filled with trust
tiny hands tra­cing
ancient angelic sigils
on my skin

your voice has changed
from the frail bird-like cry
of con­fu­sion and frank fear
to an out­raged sur­prise
at banged heads, delayed feeds
and the indig­nity of swad­dling

I don’t know why you giggle
when I put my face close to yours
close my eyes and say “boo!”
but like Pavlov’s mutt I return
repeatedly for my reward

And when, finally, you drift off
into sleep, your hands con­tinue
to con­duct vast celes­tial orches­tras
calling new planets into being
with the flick of a wrist