Piecing together the delicate features
of your young face
is impossible, for
I don’t yet know the details
of your mothers.
Are your wide, bright eyes
dark like mine? Or-
are they of a lighter hue
that would, no doubt,
disarm me completely?
At the very least,
I can somehow feel
the soft curl
of your small fist pressed firmly
against my lips;
And that, alone, is worth
for more than even I can grasp.
If I close my eyes,
I can almost hear
the gentle coos which, undoubtedly,
translate into
your very own love poem
for me.
Listen closely,
baby girl/baby boy:
May I never teach you
through taking, for
I have learned
so grievously
through loss.
And it further breaks
my already shattered heart
that you may already be
included in that loss.
Regardless, I am willing you
to exist for me;
And when you do,
I will change the words
of this poem
and it will be
my first gift for you,
baby girl/baby boy.
To whom I may never meet:
I cannot wait to meet you.
