On Looking At The Beginning Of A Lifetime

On Looking At The Beginning Of A Lifetime

 

All night, a growing sound

which opens the door

to allow a body through.

 

The day you were born

a mist rose from the river.

Seven swans flew over the bridge

their wings sounding damp air.

 

How can I write for you?

My heart is rapt, listening

to your soft breath.

We are still coming to ground.

 

 

poem and photo Rose Cook

(poem from Taking Flight by Rose Cook, pub Oversteps Books 2009)

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