I’m sitting at the far end of our avocado sofa

One leg crossed over the other–

Pen in hand,

Paused.

Beside me, breathing in soft rhythmic pants,

All the world has come to a soft point

in the form of a beautiful child–

My child.

I, a grown man, with much to say about the world,

is brought to nonsense.

At first, you were a tiny flicker of light.

Ignited, as were the stars,

by a gentle wind that hovered above dark waters.

But I was not there.

I am, however, here

Crossed legged on this avocado couch

listening to the quick wind passing between my daughters

perfect lips.