First

for Lincoln

Earth heart

The prime consonant

Curled on my chest,

A bald pulse—

Your mother’s milk in the folds of your neck,

Your stomach as round as a cantaloupe.

Now your long skeleton,

Marrowed with kindness,

Carries the world—

Running through fog—

The Pacific you hear

As the mechanics of love,

Its green rumble

Always in need of repair.

But I haven’t forgotten

Your rosebud ear

Against my chest,

Your toothless yawning,

Your coal-black eyes,

Your urgent grip on my finger:

You are our settlement

Beside life’s lake, Lincoln—

Always fulfilling

The promise of home.

                                    — June 22, 2012