My daughter (I can finally say that!), my daughter what is Christmas to a Jew? And what is New Years when we/you were just born.
The NICU is no place for loving you, there are never enough nurses for this world.
Like music, the world is measured by your breath, an alarm is all we fear.
You paw at my chest like an animal, because you are an animal.
You search/seek out sustenance when all I can provide is song and warmth.
I sweat with the different instruments pressed to our skin.
While your mother is somewhere else, I am your mother for this instant, and song is your mother.
The tones coming out of me are all we can know since infancy is everything, it is everything we do.
Little blank of my measure, little rupture, hiccup to erupt, read the world in milk.