Daughter Dreams (for Nina at one year)

Hushed as prayer,
She floats down
Into his arms
In the gliding chair
In her night-lighted room,
Her gentle cries now tucked
Between the petals
Of sleep, he delights
In his treasure:
The warm weight of her
Concentrated self —
From the fragrant blond whorl
At the top of her head
To her pajama-padded feet,
This exquisite newness
Upon whose smooth surface
The world has etched little,
Leaving all grace to linger,
How on this night,
in this moment,
He knows,
Where his
Spirit meets his bones,
That she will blossom
With the pure
power of possibility.