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The child was merely accidental.
When she looked up, the sun turned towards her,
Each star found her face, space crawled up
Next to her, wrapped her in its many layers,
Touched each eye with a soft finger,
Yet her unease would not disappear.
Even in that radiance, it would not disappear,
In the sweet reluctance of a child's world,
Given the joy of strangeness, given
Her capacity for forgiveness, it remained
That she might not have been.
All poems: copyright by
Nicholas Gordon
Free scrapbook poems
permission to use
provided by the author. |
