to my child

​how many rivers, how many earths
have fused to make you flesh—

deep-petalled eyes dew-closed
as poppied hills of cathay; veins

marmor-blue and tigris-still
enravelled in your legs; furrows

of your breath-arched ribs
the lightsplayed vales of jordan—

how many rivers, how many earths
have swelled to make you god

 

© 2017 Christie Florit

Photo Source

Dance in the Night
The Wind of Change