Your fingers boy were miracle enough
All that sweet fat around
The tiny bones and joints
The nails just barely there
Your hair the silk of baby corn
Lay perfectly across your head
As though arranged with
Some consideration and
Your steady eyes adhered to mine
Already questioning my place
As much as yours but more
In expectation than to judge
And so I judge myself and you
Calmly warm my trembling arm
© 2021 Guy Holliday all rights reserved
