To newborn you and your yawn

All the time in the world 
is held within the cradle of your yawn, 
held there with innocence and determination.
You take your time as your tiny body is overtaken,
your mouth stretched wide, your eyes tight lines, your fists clenched and wobbling. 
You yawn, and time seems to stop.
And after the yawn comes the after-yawn sigh, 
the sweetest softest breath, silvery slippery soft, 
the sound of every dew that’s fallen every morning in the wooded places of the world
cooling the grass after the dark of night as everything is new again in sunrise. 
And then you look at me with those sleepy eyes under that furrowed brow—
you’ve come back to earth, back to the present, back to me. 
And I laugh.

I watch your yawns greedily
I don’t want to miss a moment of you being so small
I am afraid that there isn’t enough time.

But you tell me there is time
in your pure abandonment to your yawn
There’s time for love and growing and yawns, morning and night.

Oh your newborn freedom!
Perfectly shameless in your perfect, complete body
fully present to feel delight, surprise, sleepiness, hunger, and pain.

I find my freedom, I find my enough-of-time,
when we are abandoned to the moment, to each moment. 
In binding myself to the present I experience it fully
and then there is enough—not when my mind is halfway to elsewhere 
worrying about time passing.

Teach me to be here, little one, 
you teach me to be here, my little love, that there is time enough.

Time to watch the soft pink beetle of you on your back,
slowly kicking and flinging your arms erratically, 
your fingers pointing at nothing in particular,
that thoughtful fascinated look on your face,
your wide eyes taking in the light with an impressionist painter’s wonder. 

Time enough to tell you I’ll stay, I’ll stay by you as you sleep,
I’ll stay by you crying from growing pains.
I’ll stay, and you’ll grow, and I’ll be there the whole time. 

Time to behold the lengthening of your eyelashes
and to hear your baby voice transform into a little girl’s. 
Loving you every day means nothing gets lost, 
there’ll be only love left in the past with baby you, and love carried forward to each day,  
and there will be nothing to regret because I’ll be there the whole time.

Time to hold your hands that fit entirely inside mine, 
only for now. But the hands that will one day be the same size as mine 
will still be your hands and I’ll love them, I’ll love you the whole time.


28 years with 2 weeks in his arms. My loves.

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