I told my life I thought she was beautiful
And she blushed and gushed like a boiling stream.
She is easily frightened, so I hold her hand
But sometimes I let the tips of her fingers free,
Exploring and waving in the dusty breeze.

She’s been digging in dirt and playing in leaves
But one day she will need more air to breathe,
And she may crawl to the mountain peaks,
To where I cannot see her,
Towards which I can’t even scream.

I can’t hope to keep her here,
Only to look towards tiny redundant treats;
For now she is happy to lose her leash,
And study the veins of apple seeds,
And learn to cope with cuts that bleed.

I Iay my eyes and not my hands
On what she breaks and bends and beats.
She asks for sight in ample loads
But I instead direct to steady her feet,
And perfect even insignificant deeds.

I ask her to find and follow a creed,
Or at least be content just to be.
I remember days she kept tissues in her sleeve,
But now she models calloused knees
And a dramatically lower level of need.

I no longer jump to block freight trains,
Or fear the effects of love and hate,
She’s stopped her search for magic beans,
And holds her ground against the most unclean.
She no longer fears what it is to be seen.