For
Britta
Who
are you now, whose child?
What
seasons do you claim and capture?
What
riddle do you own, dancing where
no
other knows, given to your feet and laughter?
Do
you walk on bone-bright stones,
your
eyes I gave you smiling?
Your
hands I gave you, mouth I gave you
seizing
night, its breath and hush?
These
years of mine, of ours,
track
hurried wind. Become the light
and
chase the stars, defy them
in
their time.
