The First Morning Dance

As in the beginning of the Earth

where the first atmosphere

drives out the vacuums in space,

the children’s voices

barrel-roll into one another, 

pulling the chords of jubilation, 

toes and feet pounding 

               at a carpet of air.

A morning hunger lingers,

                            then and now,

a-thunder of the first ancestry’s

             dance around a fire,

little mouths knowing no whisper,

                                then and now 

echoes of light waves,

cart-wheeling morning time

              between the fingers of little hands. 


Outside the beach house doors,

the north wind pushes the sea away

as the belly of the ocean floor

inverts shelled creatures into soft sand:

                                 Singing. then and now 

       Sunrise unto the children 

      whose voices ascend with colors of hope.


The atmosphere and children 


the becoming, itself, 

those infinitesimal smiles of wonder

mirrored in the glass door panes of every house

                 looking in-and-out-side-ways

                               summersaulting words,

                                                  then and now,

                 filling the empty spaces,

                        into their places in the universe, 

                 as each child sits

                                        before the world

                                                              with their toys.