Your movements are charted by the furniture

which you skirt.

Like a man on a window ledge.

High up

and a long way down.

A second sense calls

to where you should not be.

And a silent voice

whispers

go there anyway.

Everything is ripe for exploration.

Nothing too familiar.

Nothing too strange.

An adventure supported by

unsteady legs.

 

Each day a new look.

Each day a new smile.

Watching you grow

I prepare myself,

for the day you walk away.

 

 

By Fiona Lochhead  2004

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