137. Musikll Mgishins

in the light of | his smile

in the distance | in the distant
transmission of his self | to us
a great distance | away
surrounded by ocean | a continent
away | yet we can still feel
the sense of him | how
he pulls joy into | himself
how he pushes | it out and into
the face of him | broken out
in smile | he ruptures
into | joy
a fine grasp on | the world
even if | he cannot crawl
and rolls | a human tumbleweed
across the floor | how he
may not understand | he is not
a cat | his expression
changing every moment | as if
he is surprised | to be himself

the separation | we bear
we may bear | for long
left to learning about | this boy
from the pictures | we see
of him | the flashes of
who he is | and the one
he is soon becoming | for he
inhabits | a metamorphosis
that changes | him daily
suddenly | he can hold a
bottle | operate | just barely
a spoon | soon
will crawl | because rolling
will prove | a burdensome
method of | transportation
before we see him | he will
be walking | and thus a danger
to everyone | as he wanders
the drunken way | a baby does
balance not an art | but an
accident | something that
teaches him | how

for now | we watch
he does not know | who
we are | will probably
see us | only
occasionally | will recognize
us but | wonder from what
dream of his | did we
escape | because he will
live far from us | on
the other side of | this
continent | a little farther
to the Caribbean | and
may be shy | upon first
sight of either | of us
still he | will be a small
and central part | of us
built of | so many pieces
of all of so many of | us
someone whose presence
we would long | endure