for our newborn
Early morning, hungry and sucking
on small knuckles, you wake me,
and through the east window
a slim moon appears in the open winter sky.
Come cold, remind me that this moment
will pass, and because I can't hold it,
I'll hold you, and laugh, as the moon
tricks me into thinking it waxes.
And you sweet Maeve,
you grow larger, brighter
as if my arms may be suddenly
too small to hold you.