Looking in my journal for lines for a poem I’m working on, I found these sentences. How swiftly time passes! The baby I describe here is not the baby I have now.
From my journal, Friday, May 18, 2012 — The Gnome’s sleeping face has been turned up toward me this whole time I’ve been writing. And now his eyes are half open, and a smile flickering on and off — he doesn’t see me, he’s looking at his dreams, what does he see?
I imagine — dreams of color, of sunlight, of faces coming in and out of view. My voice, my hands, and sweet abundant milk —