for Jean-Pierre & Samuel


I watch you, my child, curled in your cradle of darkness,

sprung from the womb of All Presence: you are a comma

in Creation’s silent roar, namelessly poised on the brink

of a life, anointed by the love of strangers.

And I see you breathing—how each breath blossoms

in fleeting flowers, dappled with the dew of dreams,

and shadowed by shapeless fears.

You are the baffled child of becoming, sung

from the bough of Being: your petals scattering

upon a blue and breathless lake,

the speechless mirror of your loveliness.

I cannot tell who you will become, uncurling

from your foetal comma, emerging into the ellipsis

of the endless days of youth …

How you will write your name

by the exclamation mark of self-hood!

As you grow into the hours, days,

years that embrace or entangle your being,

I wonder, is Time a myth,

and Self, a blank white sheet billowing into forever,

its only inspiration, the question-mark of Who?

May you, my petal child, be free                as Silence.