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“What does our baby think of the cord sprouting
into the whoosh whoosh of my wife’s heartbeat?
And does Ramon imagine the lines of seaweed
are kite strings stretching into a heaven of water?
I see Ramon and our baby looking up,
up where stretched-out skin, the roof of the world,
lets in the light of day, up where the sun
is a ballet of burning coins. The heart — a kite
like a bucking bronc straining to break into sky.”
―
into the whoosh whoosh of my wife’s heartbeat?
And does Ramon imagine the lines of seaweed
are kite strings stretching into a heaven of water?
I see Ramon and our baby looking up,
up where stretched-out skin, the roof of the world,
lets in the light of day, up where the sun
is a ballet of burning coins. The heart — a kite
like a bucking bronc straining to break into sky.”
―
