Splatters of Poetry

the kingdom

you are the kingdom
come down here
leaving apple juice and animal crackers
in you wake

the new manna

you are the good measure
warm, soft and
running over in my lap
you ask
for a story
though all the stories of the world
tell themselves over and over
in your eyes

too young to have their own

I carry you to bed
but you hardly know
little one
how it is you who carries me through the night
with your head on my shoulder
and your tiny fingers

which could hold galaxies
and all the rivers and oceans of heaven

content to hold my own.

posted by Erin @ 6:52 AM