to the little girl conducting an imaginary orchestra:

all these sighs and crescendoes awake for you,

    flowing together so tenderly, so recklessly,

                                    and you perceive it all, with a soft smile,

     even as those around you patter on, stoic, deafened by obligation.


You do not mind for the music is in you

                          and it now seems to permeate everything —

            every shining leaf, every touch trembles with vibrato;

                      all of Creation sings, awash in splendor.


                                                                   little one,

              you would not leave my thoughts, my tedious ruminations,

                               as I travelled home beneath the twilight sky,

                  cruising around bends that familiarly ache like home

            for I have slowly absorbed the geometry of them.

                 I could not forget your eyes shut tight

                         and arms in flurried, fantastical motion

                                       as you propelled yourself forward

                                                       in complete trust and joyful oblivion.

                                                                   You reveled in the overpowering potential

                of merely being alive on this planet:

                   in the complexities, in the breadth and depth,

                                                    in the everythingness life brings,

                                      cordially summoning the unknown

                         with the aim to befriend it.

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