Stationary Unicycle

I have a little over four years. Then my daughter will be 18 and she'll be moving on to another part of her life. I'm visualizing some sort of planetary shift; a realization that I am not the center of her universe and she will no longer be the center of mine. This makes me sad beyond words. And yet I know it's right.  It's profound how we come to be, the potential that manifests as cells divide and differentiate. Every beautiful thing about this child was contained within the fragile walls of minute cells. The mysteries of the universe holding breath and then the miracle of her.  She is perhaps no more miraculous than any other child, but she is mine, and to me, she is every holy thing.  The time we have together like this, in this place, is nearing an end. She has already eclipsed me. That is as it should be and I am glad. She has just now in the past week grown past my height, and when she puts her arm around me, it's over my shoulder, not acr...

And today , a poem. Because it's spring and grey and the birds are singing.  This is a first draft sort of thing... Before Language print mud memory before language the gingko leaf the footprint the bone now rock transformed the same only harder decay imbedded in earth child hands dig the muddy bank remember digging and small white shells