Waking up a six-year old

This sweet, sweet smell
of life itself—I breathe deep drafts
and linger, cheek on softest cheek.
No rush today as I lay claim to this moment;
I am here to start her day
and she wakes up happy,
reaches for my neck, flittering eyelashes.
But those tiny butterflies revert to caterpillars,
her eyes move under lids, lashes rippling,
fuzzy caterpillars climbing, slowly as
sleep, one more dream to net in.

Another draft and I thank
whatever it is breathes life into us both.


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