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First Born
by Carol Alena Aronoff

I offered him to the sun
before it dropped off to sleep.
I offered him to redwood trees,
to the very marrow of things.
I wanted the world to know
this bright-star baby as I knew him:
eager mouth rooting, sighs
of honeysuckle on his breath,
almond eyes like his father.
Long piano fingers waving
mudras in thin air, weaving    
love spells for the one who
called enchantment to her,
yearned to taste the fruit
of unconditioned love,
the bliss of satiation.
I could not tear myself away,
although it was only in dream
that I lost him, forgot him
in a shopping cart or dropped
him on concrete cradle.
Each tiny movement,
hint of smile, was a miracle
witnessed by prophets.

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