Maternal Speculations

I don’t know your face
You are a trace, a thread
in time’s tapestry still
unfurling before my wide eyes,
a figment of something amaranthine
and divine.
I don’t know you, but one day
you will be the radiant cynosure
of my world. Your laugh will burst
like a thousand novas and shine
in my eyes long after the last
chortle’s echo. I have faith
that your smile will leave me
undone, a soft curve creasing
your face for the first time
an incandescent
altogether unnamable
joy in your cheeks.
You the creation
of God’s hand, where He holds you
until it is our time.

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