FOR LOVE OF LAURA

For love of Laura:
Everpresent, ever bright,
Unquenchable fire.

We named you Laura.
We talked about you for hours,
As if you were real.

As if I knew you,
I think in terms of LAURA—
What will you be like?

Images of you—
All the stages, all the looks,
All things you could be.

TIME keeps extending:
To pause, take stock, and go on,
Marking each moment.

Always the questions:
From my friends, from family:
I can’t explain you.

I tell those who hear:
I know just what I’m doing.
But of course, I lie.

One year is measured,
And I wait, anticipate
Things to say to you.

Waiting for you now,
Like waiting for the high tide,
You will arrive soon.

You were just a dream—
Just a thought, a plan, a name:
You are; y0ou will be.


Curled up in the mind,
REALITY CHECK: LAURA?
The fire has been set.

They’d call me crazy
If it weren’t for the dream
Of embracing you.

Dresses, dreams and more,
LAURA, the world waits for you—
Your family waits.

My child, treetop bound,
Arms and legs a blur, rising,
Ascending the world.

Child over cat—frozen!—
Split second to catch the sight,
Then gone, both running.

Kept up by child screams—
Laura, allergic to summer,
Seeks out the floor fan.

Mental snapshots, yes,
Of a child as yet unborn,
I can’t wait to hold.

Her fear of falling,
Descending stairs, she holds on
Tightly, then laughs.

Riding through tunnels,
Through open windows she screams,
And laughs, laughs, laughs, laughs.

I prepare for you.
I am to be inspected:
Found worthy/wanting.

Pages torn from books,
To be rewritten in time
By fragile fingers.




RED, WHITE, BLUE blocks—up!
Skyscraping, room-cluttering,
Filling up your world.

ENERGY compressed,
Held tightly within your soul,
Prepared for RELEASE.

Captured arms and legs,
You pull me down to your eyes,
And I can’t escape.

Crackerjacks with prize,
Little fingers tear the box,
Scattering the crumbs.

You are singing—
High, sweet voice—this is your song.
Ascending sweetly.

You are jumping rope,
Keeping cadence with your friends
With your childish chants.

I trip on your toys—
Remnants of your busy day
Scattered on your wind.

From stories to sleep
The fragile thread leads to dreams,
And back to daylight.

Crayon-deco walls,
Washed clean—again—again
Just for you, Washed clean.

The world’s your toy-box:
You possess the continents,
The islands and more.






There was a time once
A friend took time to explain
What it is to dream.

And she is watching
To see that I understand—
Truly understand.

Like a spool, around
Which a thread is wound—and wound—
You are my center.