Ambition expressed in the raise of an eyebrow.

History yet to be formed in the eyes.

The lifting of a neck and turn of a head

following a Mother’s voice.

 

The tiniest grip on an oversized finger,

an instinctive need for security.

 

Filling a mind with nonsense words,

hoping something sticks.

 

The wonder at disappearing, appearing faces.

A reaction - all gums and tongue –

a smile to dissolve.

 

The waggle of a toy emits squeaks to delight,

to mollify before feeding, before sleep.

 

And how the breathing continues, hushed,

from day into night,

each inhale,

each exhale,

to put a new parent’s mind at ease.

 

Then a pause.

A falter to the pattern.

A slight whimper, then back

to snow landing on wood.

 

And what dreams do flowers grown

by candlelight dream?

Blurred renderings of patternless people?

Distorted shapes and wonderings?

 

Or just safety, realised

in a Father’s arms, looking

into borrowed eyes, satisfied

the light is sufficient.