You came from a place of warmth and light
and found me on that cold winter night.
I held you in a mother’s embrace.
Of what was to come, there was no trace.
You came so full of contradictions
now ruled by human jurisdiction,
and thrust upon life’s sacred altar.
Her powerful swell makes you falter.
Lumbering through balmy days of woe
except when moving through the deep snow
where you dance through the drifts with delight,
your heavy body suddenly light.
Senses so different than the rest
some have proposed that you have been blessed
to cross the tundra with your bare feet
and walk desert sands in scorching heat.
I don’t know.
I just don’t know.
Can you tell me?
Can you share
just a bit of what we cannot hear?
Of what you see fit for our ears?
Can you make sense of it in some way?
Can you work it out while other children play?
Or can you not share what you know
of what makes others despair?
But not you little one.
You do not despair.
You walk on icicles
through winter’s harsh glare
and feel it all,
the heat and the cold.
You feel it all
as it all unfolds.
And you hold out your hand.
Chubby fingers meant to do man’s work.
A burdened boy whose free spirit lurks
awaiting release from confinement
to relish his earthly assignment
with the wonder and joy of a little boy.