Short fingers crafted

of my light, mysterious

generation of cells.

Winking present like fireflies

rising from the ground,

 the trees, in cool summer’s night.

Lengthening body that sings

daffodil’s virile bounce

out of winter.

Absorbing light, shines

through her, back to me.         

echo words

I say to her, “Okay?”

after every instruction then

becomes her toddler mantra.

She understands her hands

drawing with a goldenrod

crayon like a seed focuses

sprouting from its husk.

Beginning to generate

her own light.                 

~Epona Wren Lyonesse