The spring night folds into
a twilit April hush
too soon yet for crickets and toads.
I hold you in my arms
on the wooden porch
the night you are one years old.
The deep dark fills the blackening sky.
Dim figures of birds scatter branches up high.
New buds hang in the heavy air
that the rain has stilled to a calming mist.
For these miracles:
for the mystery surrounding,
for the new buds
pent up with flowers and green energy
Tomorrow you’ll see
what it means to be