a wave of something, loneliness maybe or just a vulnerability to the universe (it goes on you know);
and I hear of your sadnesses, but I am so distracted because see! there,
is nothing,
more lovely,
than this baby in my arms, soft and crinkly and plump and plum.
Warm little fingers all slapping away anything and no wrinkles because everything is still just quiet inside and maybe
that is why we have no memories when we are so so young to give us time
to rest and re-cooperate and grow because if we had to remember even then any shouts or even the sob of a clock ticking away we wouldn't be able to relax our lips and tiny little eyelids because we knew the world was both waiting and fading.
