by Robbie Taggart
Silent as a seed in the soil-dark part of her soul,
and filled with the same green hope,
Life stretches and stirs and begins the awakening.
We lie in bed with my hand on her abdomen
in gesture of receiving rather than offering benediction.
Life eddies and swirls around us
in the eyes and touch of small ones
curled and unfurled and brimming with yes.
And this one, for whom ears are still a distant vagueness,
perceives in other ways
and all sounds are one—angel song and ocean waves,
and every language is only possibility.