Little Moon, Little Sun
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
