The Moment

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Cinnamon breath swirls

In a cooing evening song;

Purple racoon mask

Rings the blue of my little swan.

A cut on the nose,

There her little stomach drum

Goes, cupping silver clover rows

With little drops of honeycombs.

Settle in to the humming of the 

Ceiling fan, hunting stars to drop

Songs in the palms of her hands.

Pause the moon where she stands:

Can fathers escort their

Daughters to the twilight of the

Neverland?

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Honeydew,

You love me, too?

Strawberries, cream,

I sing for you. 

And what will we take

When tomorrow makes

The spring wind shake

The moment?

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